


A Place of Silence

by Destina



Series: Devotion [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Early Work, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-12
Updated: 1999-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon hunts for his missing padawan, and his search takes him ever closer to the Dark Side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the MA mailing list in 1999 as a series of stories (the Devotion series). It's one of the first fanfics I wrote, so reader beware. :)

Part 1:Silence 

He had always known he would grow used to the pain. It began as a single bright thread, one which dulled with the waning of each day, and grew into a tapestry of interlocked aches and sharp agonies, each more detailed and intricate than the last. He stopped trying to pick them apart, stopped dealing with each individually, and the pain simply became a part of him. 

The sun came screaming over the horizon every morning, soon to be lost in the sudden violent daytime storms of the planet, the swirling masses of angry black and yellow clouds which extinguished all light. In the beginning, he stood at his window when the storms passed and darkness cloaked that alien world, watching the night sky, connecting each star with a mission, each mission with a memory. Soon enough, they realized he had found that small comfort, and they took away his sight, blinding him with small electronic implants. 

In permanent darkness, time ceased to have meaning; days passed in the blink of an eye, and moments were infinite. He drifted; his thoughts were scattered, no longer focused, no longer bound to the edges of his fraying discipline. Images fired across the surface of consciousness, scratching quietly ever closer to madness, and his mind called forth one name, incessant, insistent, mournful. 

_Qui-Gon_

*** 

Qui-Gon Jinn stopped chewing and listened, feeling an echo enveloping his heart. He was never sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him, or something more true. At one point he had believed he would know Obi-Wan's persistent call at any distance, feel his presence, be able to find him through the Force. It took him more than a year to admit to himself, and to the Council, that it was not so. He believed Obi-Wan was alive...but the mind-touch which had bound them as Master and Padawan had finally faded, become something pale and compromised, and whispered away to nothingness. 

Sighing, he returned to the meager meal he was devouring, seemingly oblivious to the laughter and conversation of the tavern's patrons. It had been many hours since his last meal, and the weather was unaccountably horrible. Lightning cracked the sky open, making way for thunder to break through, and driving rain outside made the small fire near his table irresistible. 

An older woman, face gray with fatigue and work, set a cup down on the table next to his hand. "Twenty credits for the meal, sir," she requested pleasantly. 

Qui-Gon didn't bother to look up from his plate. Between bites of bread, he gestured toward her impatiently and said, "You've been paid. Now thank me and move away." 

Her face fell into a slightly dazed expression as the suggestion gripped her mind, killing all independent thought. "Thank you, sir," she said softly, pausing uncertainly for a moment before walking away without another word. 

If he tried to remember the exact moment he had abandoned all his chivalrous notions about using the Force, he found the recollections hazy. Cold and hunger had stripped away most of his moral objections; the raw need to find his Padawan had mercifully freed him from his strict adherence to his training. It was not as hard as he'd imagined it might be, to step away from the guilt of manipulating others. It was convenient, and necessary...and very, very easy. The nagging doubts which once accompanied every broken tenet of the Jedi Code were now nothing more than details, relegated to some part of his conscience which was tightly sealed...lest he feel compelled to follow the Code once again. 

Several Jedi Masters tried in vain to persuade him to return to Coruscant, to give up the search for Obi-Wan. Yoda had not minced words telling him of the Council's displeasure, reminding him of his responsibilities, threatening him, scolding him, pleading with him when all else failed. Qui-Gon would not be moved. The small Force-driven voice which resided inside his determination would not be ignored. His instincts chattered at him constantly, keeping him on task. He was never sure at what point the Council had stopped calling, trying to rein him in; he threw the comlink away when he left the negotiations on Miterra, and never looked back. 

Miterra...the place where all the trouble started. It was easy to focus on that dreadful day in hindsight and believe he should have sensed danger, but that would have been pointless self-torture. They were warned about the dangers of the slavers who worked in the area, trolling for young humanoids of all species, carrying them off and selling them to the highest bidders. The stories were explicit - rapes, experimentation, servitude in mines and distant hellholes - but of course, a Jedi had nothing to be worried about. With the power of the Senate behind them, and the Force at their disposal, nothing could touch them. 

Or so they were foolish and prideful enough to believe. 

Qui-Gon winced every time he remembered his overconfidence where their invulnerability was concerned. With Obi-Wan at his side, lending strength and support to every word or gesture in battle or in bed, he had felt young again, carefree - too carefree. The freedom of his heart waas the undoing of them both. 

Belly full, Qui-Gon finished shoved his plate away, gathering his cloak about him and casting a wary look at the torrential rain outside the window. Time to get moving...but first, a few questions. He scanned the room, his gaze skimming across every face, taking their measure, intruding into their feelings without concern for their privacy. One man caught his attention, a greedy, crafty little man with wary eyes. 

Qui-Gon exerted a strong pull on the little man's mind and yanked him out of his seat, guiding him over to the table where Qui-Gon had finished gathering his belongings. The man stared, slack-jawed and confused, and Qui-Gon smiled gently at him. "Tell me, friend, where are the brothels on this world?" 

"Brothels?" The little man's forehead furrowed as he tried to evade the answer to the question through sheer force of long habit. 

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed and he closed his mind around the other man's thoughts like a fist, squeezing painfully. "Where are they?" All pleasantries were pushed aside. The Jedi Master's voice was hard and cold, devoid of pity, dripping with calculated fury. 

"You...can...find them...anywhere...," the little man said haltingly, stopping once to gasp for air. "This world...is full of...slavers, tra...ding...their wares." 

"And what if I have particular needs? Can I satisfy them here?" 

"There are special places near Gamarah. I've heard others talking of them. What are you looking for?" the little man asked tonelessly. 

"What's available?" Qui-Gon pressed impatiently. 

"There are places...you can buy pleasure boys...or girls...places you can use them..." The little man's voice dropped to hushed tones, barely audible. "Hurt them, if you wish. Or you can purchase slaves for use elsewhere, offworld." 

Qui-Gon's disgust welled over into his control, and he relaxed his clutch of the other man's thoughts before he became tempted to put him out of his misery. On a hundred worlds such as this, he'd broken through the doors of slave dens, finding citizens of the Republic subjected to unspeakable things, things he'd heard of but had hoped never to see. In every tormented face, he saw Obi-Wan, aqua eyes staring back at him, filled with immense suffering, pleading with him to find him, to free him... 

Shaking his head to clear it, Qui-Gon pushed back his chair and rose, moving across the room with long strides. He threw open the door and moved out into the storm, aware that with every second wasted, the faint hope he might find his Padawan was diminished. 

*** 

He was familiar with the hand pressing into the middle of his back, holding him in place while blows rained down across his body. With every stinging blow came a deep thrust, and a harsh grunt of pleasure. Once again, they had beaten him into submission, as was the custom; they would doubtless have been disappointed if he had simply succumbed. It was all he had left of his dignity, and he took some small pleasure in the fact that he still had some ability to wound, even after this long captivity. 

His mind wandered away from the brutal, almost routine assault on his body, and took him back to the day the negotiations began on Miterra. Qui-Gon left him with the taste of a kiss on his lips, and a promise of more in the evening hours, after the talks were finished. Obi-Wan had been happy, so happy he let down his guard, thinking nothing of it when an afternoon meal was delivered to his quarters. He'd dropped the research and the endless notes he'd been preparing, and dove into the food with pleasure. Those few bites of food had been the last bit of enjoyment to enter his life. All he'd experienced since that afternoon was misery. 

He'd awakened alone in the cargo hold of a small ship, bound hand and foot and extremely groggy. He reached immediately for the Force and realized almost instantly that a dampening field was preventing him from touching the abilities which usually came so naturally. All that was left to him was cunning and his youthful strength, and neither had been much use to him. 

The memory of the first day was the clearest, and still raw within him like a festering wound, one which was rubbed open constantly by cruelty. He'd fought them, had inflicted pain. He even suspected he may have killed one of them. The look in their eyes had driven him to the near edge of panic, as his fear surged through him, looking for release, urging him toward survival. Without the Force to assist him, or a weapon to defend himself, he was no match for so many of them. In the aftermath, he wondered bitterly if the price they'd paid to be the first was worth it - if he'd struggled enough to keep them entertained. 

Sharp pain brought him back into the present, as hands closed on his hips and yanked him backward. Hipbones bumped against him as his captor pistoned into him. He tasted blood, thought idly about what he might do to the man if his hands were unshackled, if his opportunity arose. He'd killed that particular phantom so many times that it was becoming difficult to find new scenarios to visualize. 

A new plan entered his head then, one that was becoming more persistent. The pain was no longer an issue; he had absorbed it, allowed it access to every part of himself. Now there was nothing to fear. 

He would make them kill him, and then he would be free. 

*** 

Wind howled around the corners of Qui-Gon's cloak, which offered little protection against the elements. He trudged through the central street of Gamarah, looking at the nondescript shops, searching for one in particular. Finally he found it, nestled in a corner, almost invisible between two larger buildings. He pulled the edges of his hood closer to his face and opened the door. Steam rose from his wet clothing as Qui-Gon stepped inside, blocking the doorway with his large frame. 

"May I help you?" came a soft voice from his left elbow. Qui-Gon turned his head in time to see a small, blue humanoid half his size push the door closed behind them, then march back into the center of the room, wearing an expression of friendly nonchalance. 

"Perhaps. I'm looking for a specialty item. One of the other shops in town sent me here." 

"What would this item be?" 

"A young man. Strong. Spirited. Someone who's not...complacent." Qui-Gon paused to let the request sink in, biting back revulsion at having to ask for Obi-Wan as though he were a piece of meat bought and sold at a street vendor's stall. 

"Physical characteristics?" The blue creature was taking notes. 

"Slender. Red or blond hair. Muscular." 

"And if the merchandise has already been handled, sir?" The creature looked at Qui-Gon expectantly. 

Qui-Gon stared at the slave trader. Of course Obi-Wan had been...handled. After so many such conversations, he had thought he was prepared for this. Bile rose in his throat, and an angry haze began to descend across his eyes. He raised a hand to his face and pressed his fingers into his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said tensely. "But I'll want to inspect him...prior to purchase. I'm selective." 

"Of course you are," the vendor said smoothly, in his best reassuring tone. "I believe I have just the thing, sir." The creature handed him a datapad key. "I'll arrange to have him ready for you after dark, when the storms have died down." Five small eyes looked Qui-Gon over as the blue thing added, "It's really very dangerous out there." 

"After dark," Qui-Gon said, clutching the small key. It contained an address and entry code. His heart began to race, and he painstakingly squashed the hope surging through him. After all, he'd been in this position too many times to count...and Obi-Wan remained beyond his grasp. He could not afford to believe that this night would be any different. 

*** 

"Well, my boy, it seems there's been a request for someone dangerous like you. So you'll see some action tonight." The voice was enough to induce shivers in Obi-Wan, but he controlled his loathing, even as this man, the one who was responsible for it all, ran his hands over Obi-Wan's body. The fingers locked briefly around his cock, tightening painfully, before moving on to his ass. A wet tongue entered his ear, followed by whispered words. "Too bad I don't have time to warm you up first." Obi-Wan felt the hands leave his body. "Clean him up and have him ready by nightfall." 

Other hands grabbed him, none too gently, and began bathing him, scrubbing roughly to remove all traces of blood and other remnants. Obi-Wan allowed the preparations; he was far away, mind's eye focused on his memory of Qui-Gon's face. He traced every nuance of the beloved features. He would need to summon a strength he did not possess this night. Force willing, he would succeed. 

*** 

The bitterness of unfulfilled expectation crept up on Qui-Gon as he waited near the location he'd been given by the slave vendor. He went through this every time - the preparation, the waiting, the inevitable disappointment. He'd saved many young men...but not the young man whose touch he craved in dreams as much as in every waking moment, whose absence was like a gaping hole. He would keep after this quest until he was sure Obi-Wan was dead...and he would never believe it to be true. 

Already he felt the dampening field which was being generated from somewhere near the large residence. His ability to use the Force was impaired, even at a distance. These slavers were taking no chances. He watched the traffic come and go from the front door, forcing himself to wait until the first stars twinkled on the horizon. 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes against a sudden feeling of anxious confusion. The stars...there was something he should know about the stars... With a frown, he slowed his quickened breathing, replacing the strange sensation with steely control. He left the shadows he'd been using to conceal himself and dropped into step with another patron, who jerked his head up with surprise but made no attempt at conversation with the forbidding, taller man. 

He stepped inside the brothel and felt an immediate press against his senses, as though part of his brain were switched off. The dampening field was heavy, clinging like a sodden blanket to the intuitive part of him which usually reached unthinking to the Force to assist him. The effect was rather like having his hands tied to his thighs - he felt crippled. It was unpleasant, and dangerous. 

"Which one of you is here for the boy?" A tall man stepped out of the hallway, grinning at the two newcomers. 

"I am." Qui-Gon watched the man's expression change from friendly speculation to leering avarice. 

"He's a handful, but I've no doubt you can handle him. I've had a turn or two at him myself, and I can promise you won't be disappointed." The man turned and gestured. "Follow me." 

They rounded a corner in the hallway, and the tall man stopped abruptly. "What in all the hells..." There were crashing noises, followed by shouts and cries of pain, and a screaming which sounded almost inhuman. The noise sent a sickening chill through Qui-Gon. He knew that scream. He was running then, lightsaber in hand, crashing through the door which was between them. 

Obi-Wan was on top of a man twice his size, and his fingers were locked into position around the thick throat, knuckles white. His grip was loosening slowly, as a second man slowly choked the life out of him. His Padawan's face was pulled back, a grimace of determination on his face, and he was not fighting the deadly embrace. Qui-Gon stepped over the unconscious man at the door and wrested Obi-Wan free of his attacker, pulling him upright and throwing him aside before running the attacker through unceremoniously with the blade of the saber. 

Something slammed into him from behind, and he realized that Obi-Wan was on his back, clawing at him like a wild thing, attacking without thought. He pried the arm off of his neck and threw Obi-Wan to the ground with great difficulty, kneeling quickly beside him. Already, Obi-Wan was pushing off the floor, coming for him again, reaching blindly, guiding himself by touch and sound. There was no time for calm reasoning. With one massive blow, Qui-Gon knocked his apprentice unconscious and stood fluidly, wheeling around to face the tall man who stood in the doorway, stunned. 

The lightsaber clattered to the floor. Qui-Gon's fingers met on either side of the tall man's neck, and he pressed them together. It was a simple thing, really. The life was extinguished within seconds. Still, Qui-Gon squeezed, crushing the throat, taking delicious pleasure in mangling the body, curling his fingers until he heard tissue snapping, vertebrae popping. He released the body when his hands had done all the damage they could do. 

Finally, he could spare a glance for Obi-Wan, and the first look broke his heart. The younger Jedi was covered with bruises. Where the flesh was unmarked by fresh wounds, scars were still visible, twisting across the pale skin. Obi-Wan stirred, and Qui-Gon pulled him into his arms, holding down the hands which reached for him with hostility. "Obi-Wan," he said softly, his voice breaking. The arms fell still at the sound of the voice, and the body began to tremble underneath his infinitely gentle touch. After so long, to have the other half of his soul in his arms...Qui-Gon touched the wounded face, traced the swollen hands, spoke the name just to hear it on his lips. "Obi-Wan." 

"Master." The word was only a sigh, just a soft breath, followed by a hitching gasp, before Obi-Wan let himself seek the darkness for the first time in safety. His head lolled sideways, hitting Qui-Gon's chest wearily. His Master lifted him, and Obi-Wan gave himself over to the silence which enfolded him in the absence of his despair. 

*** 

Part 2: Sanctuary and Sacrifice 

He rose reluctantly toward consciousness, wondering briefly if he had succeeded in achieving death. At the prospect of oblivion, a surge of hopefulness touched his deadened heart. 

It seemed like a distant wish sprung from dreams, at first; a voice he knew could not be real, which called to him repeatedly, with such desperate urging, such command. "Obi-Wan." He resisted it, unable to face the unbearable, familiar anguish that would accompany the darkness before his open eyes, unwilling to risk discovering that the voice did not belong to his Master. "Obi-Wan. Open your eyes. Open them." 

He lived. The weight of realization crushed him. He was not dead. And surely he had finally gone insane, for there were arms around him, and they felt like the arms of his Master. He knew it was dangerous, to be so perfectly deceived by the cruel trickery of his own mind. He had no strength left to sever himself from the embrace; instead, he willed himself deeper into sleep. He would grow stronger, and then he would resist them again. 

"Padawan." The tone became rougher, more demanding. The voice acquired an edge, layered with a barely contained desperation. Obi-Wan felt the nebulous touch of someone reaching out to him through the living Force... 

The Force! 

Obi-Wan's dormant senses sprang awake, flying out in every direction as he reached out tentatively for the Force. It answered his call immediately, surrounding him, coursing through him like blood through empty veins, bringing new life and burning the filth of captivity and helpless bondage away. He drew in a wheezing breath as his body and mind joined together in the Force. He began to grasp the reality of having control at his disposal once again as the Force buffeted him, rocketing across old wounds almost joyfully. Instinct took over; Obi-Wan turned his head toward the warm body next to him and directed an uneven tremor of Force energy in that direction. 

The energy was repelled by something much stronger than his own ability; he felt it dissipate like water splashing across rocks. The mind behind that power touched his through the Force, enough for Obi-Wan to understand...to be certain, beyond words, beyond unfounded dreams, to know who it was that held him. 

"Master." 

Qui-Gon Jinn closed his eyes as the faintly spoken word caressed his fractured soul. After a moment, he gathered himself and said, "Yes...yes, Obi-Wan." 

"Where...are we?" To his own ears, Obi-Wan's voice was alien. He had not spoken for so long, and the sounds were hoarse croaks. He realized suddenly that his throat was damaged; it was almost a secondary concern after so many other injuries. He ignored it, pushing away everything but the moment. 

"Aboard a ship bound for a safe place." Qui-Gon traced a gentle finger across Obi-Wan's cheek. "Open your eyes now." 

"There's no point," Obi-Wan rasped. The light touch of a finger brushed across his lips, hushing him, but he persisted. "I'm blind." He said the words without feeling, without emphasis. 

Qui-Gon felt a shudder begin at the base of his spine, but gripped his control tightly with the force of all his will. "There is a healer here with me. She can help you, but you'll have to cooperate. Do as I ask." 

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan complied, lashes fluttering down again quickly over the blue shadows within, then lifting to reveal the sightless green-blue eyes, fixed on a point straight ahead. 

Qui-Gon stared down into Obi-Wan's face, transfixed. Without a word, he shifted Obi-Wan's weight in his lap and looked up at the healer, who was waiting patiently near the door. As the woman quickly knelt beside the bunk, he felt Obi-Wan relax again into his embrace, and resisted the urge to crush the younger man to him. 

"I could examine him more closely if you would lift him onto the table there," the healer suggested softly. 

"Examine him here." Qui-Gon felt no need to explain himself. As his Master spoke, a small frown creased Obi-Wan's forehead, clearing away as suddenly as it had come as the healer ran her instruments over him, gauging his responses to various stimuli. Her own expression betrayed her, and Qui-Gon's hand shot out, grasping her wrist hard enough to cause pain. "What is it?" 

"Tiny implants near the brain stem," she gasped, wrenching her arm away. She glared at him. Slowly, Qui-Gon lowered his hand. "They are having some sort of effect on the ocular nerves. I don't recognize the technology." 

"Can they be removed successfully?" Qui-Gon asked. 

"I believe so. But I have limited supplies, and I can't-" 

"You'll make do," Qui-Gon said with finality, dismissing her doubts. 

The healer studied him for a moment, her expression worried. "You're Jedi, aren't you?" 

"What's that to you?" Qui-Gon replied sharply. 

"Why not take him to the Temple on Coruscant? They have healers there much more experienced..." Her voice trailed off at the look on Qui-Gon's face. "You are Jedi, aren't you?" 

A palpable sense of unease pervaded the room, hanging heavily, acquiring more weight each moment, until Qui-Gon answered the question he'd been asking himself for many months. "No." 

"Master!" Obi-Wan's genuine distress communicated itself clearly; he felt as though he'd been struck. He had never known his Master to deny what he was, what he stood for, not even in the face of immense danger. And on the relative safety of a ship already in space, there was no immediate threat, no reason... 

"Well, then," the healer said, looking from one to the other. The face of the older man was perfectly calm, but she could see a tempest raging in his eyes. And the younger Jedi was becoming agitated very quickly. "I haven't anything for his pain, or to put him to sleep." 

"I'll take care of that." 

"No, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said in alarm, knowing his Master meant to send him into deep unconsciousness. He'd had no time to thank Qui-Gon, to understand what had taken place; feelings of confusion, of love and regret, were communicated clearly by his objection. His sense of wasted time was acute. 

"There's no help for it, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice changed subtly as he spoke to the younger man; he pulled his apprentice closer, and bent his head low to speak words only Obi-Wan was meant to hear. "When you wake, beloved, there'll be time for explanations. Now you must be made well." 

"I understand, but-" 

"Rest your voice, Padawan," Qui-Gon urged. 

"If you are not Jedi, I cannot be your Padawan." The words came quickly, showing Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan had lost nothing of his stubborn defiance, or his questioning spirit. Qui-Gon set aside his relief at that knowledge - he had always believed Obi-Wan could endure, and would not be broken - but the possibility had always remained in his mind, nagging at him, a question awaiting an answer only Obi-Wan could provide. 

"You are much more than that to me," Qui-Gon said, in such a way that Obi-Wan shuddered with a thousand conflicting feelings washing over him all at once. He had no time to sort them out, for Qui-Gon's fingers soothed his forehead, focusing the Force, wiping away all traces of awareness until blackness rushed up against his thoughts. "Sleep now." 

Darkness enfolded him. 

*** 

The humming of the ship's hyperdrive was calming to Qui-Gon, as he stood watching stars streak by, lighting a path to their destination. He was weary in a way he hadn't believed would ever be possible. For the hundredth time since their ship had climbed into the sky, he reached out with something akin to disbelief, sending his thoughts to touch Obi-Wan's, savoring that simple pleasure. 

Not for the first time, he debated waking Obi-Wan, just to see the younger man move, to feel the joy which would come with hearing his name spoken again. He hesitated for many reasons. There would be an endless barrage of questions for which there Qui-Gon had no answers; Obi-Wan would not be satisfied with simple truths, not about something so important. He would want the complicated inner structure of every decision, and would press until he was satisfied. 

Qui-Gon had undressed his lover as he slept, preparing him for the surgery the healer performed to remove the mechanical devices which had blinded him. Every wound and scar seemed another blow to Qui-Gon's heart, sickening reminders of a year gone by in anger and futility, now forever cloaked in the madness of dark acts, dark thoughts which even now he could not erase. He debated himself endlessly, acknowledging finally that there was much he was unwilling to let go. The bitterness was deep and harsh, and not easily set aside. And they were not yet out of danger. 

Qui-Gon turned his eyes toward the sleeping figure in the bunk. Pale shoulders, thin and purpled with faint bruises, protruded from underneath the blankets. Gray-black circles of fatigue under Obi-Wan's eyes obscured the fair skin beneath, like shadows across the moon. Qui-Gon's heart cracked open a bit wider each time his eyes feasted on the sight before them. 

A casual observer would not have detected the subtle shift in Qui-Gon's posture as he backed up a step and turned from the window, reaching toward the comlink panel. It was mid-morning on Coruscant; the Council would be in session. It was time. 

*** 

Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the Jedi Council Chamber on the top floor of the Temple. Outside the windows, the business of Coruscant progressed in the usual fashion; the traffic moved in hive-like, never-ending patterns across the sky, like swarming dark insects devouring nature. 

Business progressed with unerring tedium inside the Council Chamber as well. Master Saesee Tiin waved a small datapad about, emphasizing his words by banging the pad on the arm of his chair. "Dead weight. There is nothing to be gained by retaining students who show no promise." 

Master Windu shook his head impatiently. "It's far too early to conclude they have no aptitude. Perhaps in time one of these boys will find their calling as healers, or investigators. I remind you that not all Force-adepts are suited for the life of a warrior." 

"And I'll point out that these boys are only ten and twelve. Ample time for them to be chosen as Padawans," Master Gallia observed. 

Just then the Council was interrupted by a very young Padawan who ran into the room at full speed, charging ahead like an enraged bull, trampling decorum. "Master Yoda! Master Yoda!" the girl cried, Padawan braid flopping about her ears. 

"A moment, Padawan! Where is your respect?" Master Windu admonished her sternly. He was gratified when she stopped, flushed a deep crimson, and bowed politely to him. 

"My apologies, Master Windu," she said breathlessly. "There is an incoming transmission for Master Yoda!" As she spoke his name, she turned somewhat gracelessly to Yoda and bowed again. "From Master Jinn!" 

Immediately, the Masters began to talk among themselves, murmuring their surprise. 

"In this place will I take the call," Yoda instructed the young girl, who bowed and turned to run again before she had raised completely from her bent position. Looking after her retreating form, Yoda said, "Unexpected this is." 

There was no time for speculation; the holographic image of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared before them, crackling with static and poor resolution. He bowed, but stiffly, as though his body had forgotten how, and was not interested in being persuaded to remember. "Master," Qui-Gon said, his expression unreadable. 

"Well, Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Think you to call after so long and be well received?" Yoda asked angrily, his words tinged with relief that Qui-Gon lived, as well as irritation at his stubborn foolishness. "What say you?" 

"I've found Obi-Wan." A shocked gasp rose from the collected Jedi; Yoda hushed them with a gesture as he motioned to Qui-Gon to continue. "He was being held in a brothel on an outworld. I am taking him to a safe place so he may begin his healing." 

"Bring him here, you should!" Yoda barked. "Not whisk him off again! A Jedi are you, as he is. Belong here you do." 

Qui-Gon hung his head, deliberating the motive behind Yoda's words. He could almost feel his old Master's mind slithering around the edges of his own, looking for a point of entry to exert his influence. "I cannot return to Coruscant." 

"Know what you have done, the Council does." Yoda hesitated to allow the implications to reach Qui-Gon. "Risked everything for Obi-Wan, jeopardized yourself. Gave in to temptation to use your skills as you wished. This cannot be ignored. Punishment there will be, Qui-Gon. Return and face us. Let Obi-Wan be healed here." 

"No." Qui-Gon spat the word with vehemence. "He belongs with me. I will not return. When Obi-Wan is well, he will have a choice. Until then, my will is his." 

"Reconsider," Yoda said. It was an order shaped in the form of a request. Qui-Gon's image flickered once more, then vanished. 

The room erupted in a cacophony of a dozen Jedi all talking at once. Finally, Master Windu stretched out his arms and raised his voice to be heard. "Enough! We must choose our path carefully here. Much damage will be done to if we separate Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon by force. Yet Qui-Gon's disregard of the Code has become common knowledge here at the Temple." He laid out the facts expectantly, waiting for the inevitable discussion to follow. 

"He is one of our greatest warriors!" Master Koth said, seething. "This is outrageous. What kind of lesson is this for the students?" 

"A timely one," Master Gallia said, her words pointed. "We should all have been so fortunate as to have a Master who would risk his reputation and his future, at great personal cost, to find us if we were in such a situation." 

Master Windu shook his head, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. "He made this choice because Obi-Wan is his lover, not because of his loyalty to his student. That changes things considerably. The outcome is irrelevant. And he can't be allowed to just whisk Obi-Wan off to parts unknown. The boy could be injured, he could-" 

"You don't seriously believe Qui-Gon would allow Obi-Wan to suffer from lack of treatment rather than come here?" Master Gallia cut off Windu with her skeptical, almost scornful words. "You, who know him better than any of us save Yoda?" 

"There is a larger issue here," Master Ki-Adi-Mundi interjected. "Qui-Gon has used his Force abilities indiscriminately. There is a personal price to be paid, yes, an enormous one. Qui-Gon could yet turn to the Dark Side." 

"If he hasn't already," muttered Master Koth. 

"Pointless, this is." All heads turned toward Yoda, who had been silent all along, until that moment. Painfully, the elder Jedi levered himself out of his chair, leaning on his walking stick, and moved slowly to the center of the room. He hesitated there, collecting himself, head lowered; the others waited quietly, dreading his words. The wizened face moved slightly, as Yoda tilted his head to one side, nodding as if having reached some hidden conclusion. "Changed is Qui-Gon, not afraid to use the Force to his advantage. Ruthless and fearless he is; I sense no remorse in him. His reasons matter not. Sanction his actions, we must not." Yoda met Mace Windu's eyes. "A rogue Jedi he is. He must be treated accordingly." 

"Then someone must be sent...to deal with the situation," Master Rancisis said, acknowledging with his words what the rest of them were thinking. 

"I will go. If Qui-Gon has begun to turn, I will be able to offer him a new perspective. Perhaps he can be reasoned with," Ki-Adi-Mundi offered. 

"His Master was I." Yoda tapped the end of his walking stick gently on the patterned floor, three times. "His Master I always will be. I will go." No one in the room could argue with the logic of Yoda's decision, on many levels. Of them all, Yoda was the most powerful, the most adept in using the Force. Qui-Gon's mastery of the Force surpassed many Council members; they knew, and accepted, that he might be one among them were it not for his fateful choice to embark on the lengthy search for Obi-Wan. If any person other than his Padawan might hold influence with Qui-Gon it would be Yoda. 

"Where will you begin?" Master Windu asked. 

Yoda closed his eyes; his head lifted, ears twitching as he reached out with the Force. The room seemed to tremble with the power Yoda channeled, as he cast his feelings outward, reaching for Qui-Gon, his thoughts traveling the resonant bond of Master and Padawan which could never be severed entirely. It took several minutes. 

"Think you to hide from me?" Yoda murmured, his upper lip drawing inward against the resistance he encountered. "Hide, you cannot." After a moment, his mental presence returned to the room, drawn by duty. He turned his eyes to Ki-Adi-Mundi. "To Messemer Prime he has gone, to conceal himself and Obi-Wan among the Force-adepts." 

"He will be much more difficult to find there," Master Billaba pointed out, her eyebrow arching at the prospect. 

"Difficult, yes." Yoda turned to Billaba, a look of intense focus on his face. "Find him, we will." 

*** 

It was much easier to coax him to consciousness the second time. "Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon imbued the name with gentle urging. The younger man stirred under his hand, and came awake with a jerk. "Easy, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, restraining him with that same hand. It was surprisingly easy. 

Obi-Wan seemed to be processing some sort of decision; a muscle in his cheek twitched twice, before he set his jaw and opened his eyes. He blinked, then turned his head and fastened his eyes on Qui-Gon's face. Those eyes moved across every line, every tiny point of the haggard expression on his Master's face, noting the evidence of exhaustion, the thinness which was never there before, the abundant silver in Qui-Gon's long hair. He raised the darkening gaze to his Master's fathomless blue eyes. "You haven't been taking care of yourself," he observed simply, watching the joy that leapt into those eyes, and was mirrored in his own, become quickly muted. 

"I've been busy," Qui-Gon said wryly. 

Obi-Wan dug a hand out from underneath the sheets and laid it lightly on top of Qui-Gon's fingers where they rested on his chest. "I know." They looked at one another for a long, long moment, each understanding the another in ways too complicated to be conveyed with clumsy words. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "I lost track of time while I was a prisoner. How long was I...there?" 

"Thirteen Standard months, give or take a few days." 

"It seemed longer," Obi-Wan said absently. "I'm surprised the Council allowed you to continue searching for me." 

So there it was. The subtle introduction of the challenge; the door was opened for Qui-Gon to explain what had happened. Qui-Gon felt the press of Obi-Wan's need for information, knew that he owed his Padawan the truth, but could not bring himself to provide all the details. 

"They weren't pleased with my decisions regarding your welfare. They asked that I return to Coruscant and allow others to look for you. I refused." 

Obi-Wan searched for the truth in his Master's words, and found it instead in what had not been said. "They didn't give you permission..." 

"I needed no permission, and asked for none. If a thief cuts away a man's arms in the night, does he ask permission to make himself whole again?" Qui-Gon's eyes blazed with defiance. Obi-Wan had never seen his Master's emotions so openly displayed. For the first time, Obi-Wan looked at his Master and saw no serenity, no calm. Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan's quizzical gaze and added fiercely, "Without you, there was nothing of consequence in my life, Obi-Wan. Nothing mattered more than finding you." 

"All you've ever taught me...the life of a Jedi is bound by duty..." Obi-Wan grasped at words, found them inadequate and discarded them. He could not reconcile the overwhelming reality of his Master's love for him with his sense that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Even as he basked in the certainty that he was cherished more deeply than he'd ever believed possible, he set the feelings aside in order to reach a point of clarity where Qui-Gon's actions were concerned. 

It was as though Qui-Gon had looked straight inside him, glimpsing his troubled heart and pulling it out into daylight to be overturned. "My duty is to you," Qui-Gon said resolutely. "If it was never clear to you before, let me be clear now." 

"Qui-Gon..." Obi-Wan hesitated, wanting to put voice to a thousand feelings at once, but utterly lost inside the vastness of it all. He felt Qui-Gon waiting patiently, anticipating his questions, reassuring him with a feather-light touch. Finally, he asked the one question which broke forth from all other possibilities. "When we reach Coruscant, what will happen to you?" 

"We're not returning to Coruscant." 

Obi-Wan mulled it over, and asked, "Where, then?" 

"Messemer Prime. I won't risk being separated from you again until you've recovered." The weight of what might come to pass in that distant time was left to fall in the spaces and cracks between the words. Still, Obi-Wan would not let it drop. 

"And then?" His fingers curled gently around Qui-Gon's. "What then, Qui-Gon Jinn?" 

His Master was silent. 

***** 

Their ship docked in the periwinkle twilight in the spaceport of Paramon, Messemer Prime's largest city. Qui-Gon had already made arrangements for housing there, deep in the heart of the planet's largest population of Force-adepts. All that remained was to get Obi-Wan to their new home, which was proving somewhat problematic. 

For one thing, Obi-Wan refused all assistance. The surgery to restore his sight had left him dizzy and off-balance. Qui-Gon sat in a chair across from Obi-Wan, watching him wobble unsteadily as he pulled his leggings, and tried to decide at what point he would step in. He knew his Padawan wanted to re-establish a normal routine as quickly as possible by taking back control of even the smallest details. Qui-Gon respected and understood that attitude, but he was chafing at the bit to help, and it was difficult to wait until he was asked. 

He stood, taking up an item of clothing from among those he'd carried with him for over a year, and took it to Obi-Wan, holding it out to him. "Yours, I believe," he said, offering the tunic to his apprentice. 

Obi-Wan reached out automatically, stopping just short of the rough ivory fabric, then grasped it carefully and pulled it from Qui-Gon's hand. "Thank you," he said, not meeting Qui-Gon's eyes. 

Qui-Gon stepped away as Obi-Wan pulled the tunic on slowly, belting it with clumsy fingers, wincing as twinges of pain jolted him with even the smallest movements. He pushed through them, accustomed to them; they simply seemed magnified by freedom. He sat down rather heavily, and pulled on first one boot, then the second, aware that Qui-Gon was still watching him like a mother hawk. He raised his head and said, "They fit." 

"They'll do until I can find others." He'd taken the boots from a passenger aboard ship, who'd been very accommodating. In fact, Qui-Gon suspected that same passenger was probably still wandering about his quarters, looking for his leggings as well. "Are you ready?" 

"As much as I'll ever be." Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders. A tiny smile appeared on his face. For the first time in a very long while, he had the choice to stay or go, as he pleased. The thought of it made him stand taller. He accompanied Qui-Gon down the ship's long central corridor, noticing that Qui-Gon was keeping pace with him rather than the reverse. Down the ramp they went, and into the bustling spaceport. Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon dutifully for a few minutes, looking about him as they moved through the busy streets. "Why did you choose Messemer Prime, Master?" Obi-Wan asked curiously. He'd never been to the planet and had heard very little about it. 

"Most of the cities on this continent of Messemer Prime are populated with colonies of Force-adepts who have refused to have their children trained as Jedi. To them, it is a natural genetic trait. Using the Force comes as naturally as breathing. They don't want their children taken away and trained by us. They prefer to do it themselves, within their families. The sheer number of people using the Force routinely here will confuse anyone who might be looking for us within the living Force." Qui-Gon turned down a curving street running alongside the city waterway. "This way. It isn't far." 

"Won't they resent having Jedi among them?" Obi-Wan wondered. He focused on making his legs move; they'd barely walked half a mile and he was already tired. 

"As far as these people are concerned, we're simply travelers, looking for a place to rest for a short while. They won't take any notice of us, as long as we remain inconspicuous." Qui-Gon's face was grim, and his lips drew together in a tense line as he watched Obi-Wan walking slightly ahead of him. The younger Jedi was walking stiffly, limping slightly, and every step jarred nerve endings still jangling with the memories of recent abuse. 

Abrubtly, Obi-Wan stopped, breathing heavily from exertion, and wheeled on Qui-Gon. "Stop staring, I-" His own body betrayed him, and he pitched forward, landing on one knee. He touched the ground with one hand, steadying himself. 

Qui-Gon moved to his side, dropping to one knee alongside him, ignoring the curious glances of those passing by. "You were saying?" he said, soft amusement and deep concern in his voice. 

"I refuse to be treated like an invalid," Obi-Wan rasped through gritted teeth. He swallowed hard against the ache in his injured throat, aggravated by his shortness of breath. 

"I want you to heal, Obi-Wan. You can see for yourself that you've barely begun to do so. If you push yourself before you're ready, I'll stop you, whether you ask for my help or not." Qui-Gon meant for Obi-Wan to hear the warning in his words, but his worry was palpable. 

"I can do this," Obi-Wan answered, as though he hoped to convince himself. He harnessed the Force and used it to give himself a little extra energy as he rose from the ground. He didn't bother to protest when Qui-Gon's hand slipped under his elbow to lend extra support. Slowly, they started off again, at half the speed they'd walked before. 

It took less than ten steps to confirm Qui-Gon's suspicions, and only his hand under Obi-Wan's arm saved the younger man from a fall. Without hesitation, Qui-Gon swung Obi-Wan into his arms, ignoring the scowl that darkened his Padawan's face. "I warned you," he said simply, adding, "It's not the first time I've carried you, Obi-Wan. And you have carried me as well." 

"That's not the point," Obi-Wan said hotly, frustrated. His voice had disappeared into a whisper that needed the balm of absolute quiet in order to return to normal. 

"Stop talking. It won't change anything, so save your strength for a battle you can win." A sound somewhat like a growl made its way out of Obi-Wan's throat, but he said nothing further. 

A few more twists and turns in the street, and Qui-Gon stopped in front of an innocuous dwelling set slightly in from the street. He set Obi-Wan on his feet, keeping hold of him around the waist, and keyed in the entry code he'd been given. As the door slid open, Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan again and carried him inside, as the door swished closed behind them. 

*** 

Ki-Adi-Mundi paused in his reading to glance up at Yoda, who was perched on the edge of his chair as though listening for something. "You're disappointed in him," he said, noting the deep sadness in Yoda's eyes. His old friend was as worried as he's ever seen him. 

"Disappointed, yes. Always the rebel, is Qui-Gon. Never the easy path." Yoda's nose crinkled up as he added, "His greatest strength, Obi-Wan is. Perhaps his Master's salvation will he be." 

"A rogue Jedi, yes. I can even see Qui-Gon delving into his base emotions to use the Force to save that boy. But do you really think he would turn?" Ki-Adi-Mundi had grave doubts about the possibility. 

"Long was the path to Obi-Wan, and difficult. Drifted far, he has. Uncertain am I how far." Yoda's ears shifted forward delicately. "Dangerous has he become." 

"Yes," agreed Ki-Adi-Mundi. Glancing out the window at the star patterns, he confirmed, "Soon enough, we'll know. We should make plantefall in a few hours. Do you truly think we can find them there, if they do not wish to be found?" 

"Searching already, am I," Yoda said distantly, his eyes seeing something very far away. 

*** 

"Give me that," Obi-Wan said warningly, reaching out for the soap. It seemed that every event was going to be a protracted war between them now that Qui-Gon had laid down his ultimatum. If Obi-Wan tried and failed to do what he set out to do, from fastening his belt to walking across the room, Qui-Gon was going to do it for him, until he was certain Obi-Wan would not harm himself in the attempt. Obi-Wan didn't like it one damn bit and had become more angry as the evening wore on. 

Now he found himself seated in the bathing pool, because Qui-Gon would not trust him to stand alone in the shower, and his Master was preparing to bathe him. "Give it to me!" he demanded. "I'm quite capable of washing myself." His eyes narrowed as he prepared for an argument from Qui-Gon. 

Qui-Gon said mildly, "I don't doubt it, Obi-Wan. But it would please me to do it for you." He took the wind out of Obi-Wan's protests. His heart ached as the younger man first frowned, then sank lower in the tub, concealing more of his body from Qui-Gon. He found shields slamming down between them as Obi-Wan fought to hide his own acute discomfort and irrational fear from his Master. 

Qui-Gon leaned over and rested his forearms against the edge of the tub, tossing the soap back into the water. "Obi-Wan," he began quietly. "It will take time to conquer your fear. I don't want to add to it, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. I undressed you on the ship. I've already seen every mark on your body. I've committed them all to memory." The immense horror he felt over what had been done to Obi-Wan was a tiny speck on the surface of Obi-Wan's pain, and he knew it. Vividly, he recalled drawing his fingers across every winding cut, every white and shrinking scar. He'd bathed them all with tears, surprised to find how powerfully moved he was by the love he'd clung to for this man, amazed that he could still feel such emotion after the things he'd done in the service of it. 

Obi-Wan felt the intensity of Qui-Gon's reaction to his abuse, and it was too much. "I craved your touch almost as much as I craved death," he said softly. "I dreamed about you touching me with tenderness. And now I'm not sure I can stand it. I've had too many hands on me, Qui-Gon." 

"There has to be a beginning," Qui-Gon said, "but it will come when you are ready." And he waited. 

Obi-Wan shivered in the hot water. He had surrendered nothing of himself while in the clutches of the slavers, had never let down his guard, and had accepted only what he must to keep himself alive, until he could see death as the only way he might rejoin the Force. It was small comfort. He could feel his strength returning, being fed by Qui-Gon's steady, devoted presence. He looked at his Master's large hands, which he'd imagined a thousand times, alone in the darkness. Their phantom touch had helped to keep him sane. 

He looked at Qui-Gon, eyes haunted, and nodded as he fished out the soap and handed it to the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon took the offering, deeply touched, and moved behind Obi-Wan, setting to work with the gentlest motion imaginable. He lathered the thin shoulders first, then the neck, stopping to dig his fingers into the extremely tense muscles, feeling the tension melt away with minimal resistance. He strove to keep his touch neutral, in no way sexual, reveling in the feeling of being able to break down this first barrier. His hands slid beneath the surface of the water, down Obi-Wan's back, and quickly up again to move down each arm in turn, then dipping to the front to move briskly down the chest. 

Qui-Gon set the soap aside and came around to the front, quickly shucking off his clothes with business-like efficiency and lowering himself into the water. Obi-Wan watched him, showing no expression, as Qui-Gon took up the soap and returned to his task. He lifted each of Obi-Wan's legs in turn, washing his feet and calves, then his thighs, never lingering too long in any one place. His hands dropped to Obi-Wan's waist, and his eyes never left Obi-Wan's as he washed his genitals thoroughly but impersonally. The gratitude in Obi-Wan's eyes was immense. Qui-Gon cupped his hands and splashed water over the younger Jedi to rinse the soapsuds away. 

As Qui-Gon moved to begin washing himself, Obi-Wan watched silently, and suddenly reached out to take the soap. "Let me," he urged. After a moment, Qui-Gon acquiesced, letting the soap slide from his hand to Obi-Wan's. As their fingers touched, he was surprised when Obi-Wan prolonged the contact a moment, then pulled away quickly. "Obi-Wan..." he said roughly, not sure he could trust himself. 

"Let me, Master," Obi-Wan answered, not stopping in his ministrations. He washed his Master just as he had been washed, taking his time, finding pleasure in the touching much more than in being touched, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, reveling in it. When he had finished, he placed the soap on the ledge of the tub and sat back, locking eyes with Qui-Gon. 

Suddenly Qui-Gon started forward, a wary expression on his face. "Too soon," he said out loud, in a tone that echoed with resentment and urgency. 

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, sliding forward in the water so he was closer to Qui-Gon. 

"They've found us," Qui-Gon said, and the look on his face was frightening. 

"Now are you going to tell me the rest of it?" Obi-Wan asked again, dry and dressed and seated in front of a meal he had no intention of eating. 

Qui-Gon sighed. "What makes you think there's anything I haven't told you?" 

"I know there's a great deal you haven't told me," Obi-Wan answered. "There hasn't been time. And you've been trying to start me off easily." The hint of humor was also a rebuke. 

"I told you I didn't want to return to the Temple because I didn't wish to be separated from you. That portion is true enough," he said. "There's no doubt that I would no longer be allowed to continue on as your Master...at least not for a while." 

A cold chill ran down Obi-Wan's spine. "What is it, Qui-Gon?" 

"I stopped following the Code a long time ago, Padawan." Qui-Gon used the word deliberately, indulging himself, for he thought of it now as a term of affection more than a title. "When you were lost to me, I made a decision from which I could not turn back. The Council would not sanction my search for you. They demanded I return and do the duties for which I'd been trained. I could not allow them to relegate you to the status of a Jedi who would be sought if time permitted, between diplomacy and bureaucracy..." Qui-Gon's voice trailed off as he remembered, and bitterness crept into his tone. "It happened gradually. I broke off all contact with the Council. Once I was freed from the constraints of duty, the rest came naturally." 

"What is the rest?" Obi-Wan prodded. 

"I've done many things...I'm tainted by darkness, Obi-Wan." At his Padawan's questioning expression, he elaborated, enunciating every deed. "I've used the Force to cheat, to steal, to manipulate and obscure the truth, to take what I wanted. And I haven't cared for a very long time." 

The two men sat silently, as Obi-Wan considered the situation, trying to wrap his mind around it all. "You'll have to leave the Jedi," Obi-Wan said finally. 

"Or be rehabilitated," Qui-Gon said scornfully. "It's too late for that." 

Obi-Wan's mind whirled, but he had no chance to speak his thoughts. Qui-Gon went to the door and keyed it open. He stood in the doorway, watching for their visitors. "They're very near." 

"Aren't you curious to know what I want?" Obi-Wan asked. "Or were you just going to keep me hidden away and never tell me the truth?" 

"I was planning to wait until you were well. And then I would have offered you the choice, told you everything," Qui-Gon told him. 

"Ask me now, then. Offer me the choice." Obi-Wan's rasping voice had taken on a hard edge. Qui-Gon squared his shoulders and turned to face Obi-Wan, who had risen from the table and was standing, tensed like a wire pulled taut. 

"Stand aside, Master Qui-Gon, and admit your guests." A voice from behind Qui-Gon signaled the end of all choices, for the moment, as Ki-Adi-Mundi made his presence known.

Without turning, Qui-Gon moved into the room to stand beside his Padawan. Obi-Wan bowed to Ki-Adi-Mundi, hanging on hard to the edge of the table, but Qui-Gon made no move until his diminutive former Master stepped inside the dwelling. Qui-Gon bowed to Yoda, and said, "You wasted no time tracking me down, my Master. I thought perhaps you would understand, give me some time before forcing a confrontation." 

"Hmph," snorted Yoda. "Time enough there has been. Ran away from our authority a year ago, you did. Do not try to turn this around!" he said, shaking his stick at Qui-Gon. He looked then to Obi-Wan, who had grown considerably paler in the last few minutes. "How fares your Padawan?" 

"He will recover, Master." 

Yoda eyed the young Jedi, deciding for himself. "Pleased am I to see you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Owe much to your Master's stubbornness, you do." 

"Indeed, Master Yoda. I feel most fortunate in that regard." Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan reaching out to him through the Force, but he ignored it. 

"Know you why we have come." Yoda leaned forward on his stick. "Long discussions are pointless. Will you return or not?" 

"I will not. As you say, discussion is pointless." Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's eyes on him. 

"Force you, we can." Yoda's eyes narrowed, and he nodded to emphasize his words. "If not this night, another." 

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon said, dubiously. "To what purpose?" 

"You cannot be allowed to continue your indiscriminate use of the Force, Qui-Gon. It is dangerous to those whose lives you impact, and to you as well," Ki-Adi-Mundi answered. 

"There is no evil in him," Obi-Wan said suddenly. "What he's done, he did for me. Not for himself. He is in no way dangerous." 

"Excuses matter not!" Yoda replied. "Your opinion is not needed, young Padawan. Influenced by your emotions are you." 

"And you aren't?" Obi-Wan shot back. "You're here because my Master was your Padawan and you don't want to see him disgraced." 

"Enough, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chided him. "I will not return, and you need have no fear I will turn to darkness, my Master. I may have strayed down another path, but I am not so foolish or hungry for corruption as that." 

"I sense no evil in him, Yoda." Ki-Adi-Mundi was unusually perceptive about the Dark Side; as far as Yoda was concerned, his was the last word on the subject. "Only a lack of attention to his conscience." 

Yoda looked long and hard at Qui-Gon, who returned his steady gaze unfazed. "Very well. But if you choose not to return, remain here you must until come to the Temple you have. Understand?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Obi-Wan will come with us, however. He is not yet ready for the trials, and is in need of rest and further training." Ki-Adi-Mundi waited for Qui-Gon's inevitable objection. 

"I will not stand in his way." Qui-Gon turned to look at Obi-Wan. "You asked me to give you a choice. I offer it to you now." 

"I belong with you, and nowhere else," Obi-Wan answered, finding it difficult to breathe. As simple as that, then. "You knew it all the while you searched for me. You know it now, as I do. I will not leave you." 

"It's settled, then." Qui-Gon turned back to Yoda. "He remains here with me. When he has recovered, I will reconsider my choice, Master." 

"You understand that you are, in effect, banished to this place?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked. "You may only leave with the Council's permission, and then only to return to Coruscant." 

"I understand," Qui-Gon said, leaving no doubt that he would do exactly as he wished, restrictions be damned. To Yoda, he said, "I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Master." 

Yoda looked at Qui-Gon, wondering if he would have gone to the ends of every galaxy searching for his rebellious student when Qui-Gon was his Padawan. He would never know. "Be well, Qui-Gon Jinn," he said, with a nod to Obi-Wan. "Speak of this again we will, when time for you to reconsider it is." He turned and followed Ki-Adi-Mundi from the dwelling. 

"Sit down, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ordered, easing the younger man down in his chair and kneeling before him. "Are you certain about this?" 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan felt a small grin coming to his face. "I'm beginning to understand why you were such a handful when you were a young Knight." 

Qui-Gon chuckled softly. "You have no idea, Obi-Wan." 

"I meant what I said, Qui-Gon." The grin faded from Obi-Wan's face and was replaced by a wistful, hopeful look of longing. "I have a great deal to conquer. I believe I can be the man I was before I was taken." 

Qui-Gon touched his face, cupped his chin with a warm hand. "You are still my beloved. Nothing has changed, Obi-Wan. Your strength has carried you through. And you will heal in time." 

For the second time, Obi-Wan asked the question. "And what then, Qui-Gon?" He caught the hand which rested on his cheek, pressed it there, closed his eyes against the sensation of the much-imagined touch, now real and alive. "What then?" 

"We will decide when the time comes," Qui-Gon answered. It was the only answer he could give. And it was no answer at all. 

*** 

Part 3: Standing Against the Storm 

Qui-Gon woke from a deep sleep with a sudden feeling of agitation passing through him like the cold burn of frozen metal. He rolled out of bed, glancing to the side. Obi-Wan's bed was empty, the sheets still pulled tightly as they'd been when Qui-Gon fell asleep. He ground the heels of his hands into his aching eyes, casting outward with the Force for Obi-Wan. 

The subtle tickling at the base of his skull told him Obi-Wan was nearby; Qui-Gon knew exactly where to find him. He kicked on a pair of sleep pants, yanking them over his hips with sleepy carelessness, and ran a hand through his wildly disheveled hair as he moved from the bedroom into the living area. 

Soft ruby embers flickered in the small fireplace, remnants of an unnecessary fire from the evening before. Obi-Wan's eyes were still sensitive, and he preferred firelight to the harsh glare of the power sources in their residence. In the evenings, the two men sat together, cosseted by the warmth and comfort of the flames, often passing several hours without a word. It was a companionable silence, but one Qui-Gon was troubled by - especially since Obi-Wan had stopped sleeping. 

Such a fine line, between pushing and offering, between the end of his own need and the beginning of Obi-Wan's. He felt impatience creeping up on him, catching him off guard at the strangest times. Often, he saw his own frustration mirrored in Obi-Wan's frowning irritation, caught the brief flash of accusation in Obi-Wan's eyes when he studied the younger man too closely. Still, he felt compelled to watch over Obi-Wan with a sort of desperate, relentless fear. His close observation of Obi-Wan's every action faded into exhausted oblivion in the night, leaving the younger Jedi alone with his thoughts. 

Rough, knobby carpet prickled under Qui-Gon's feet as he moved across the room. He'd come upon Obi-Wan in this position in front of the shuttered window many other mornings. Obi-Wan faced the closed portal, looking into nothingness. It was the young Jedi's favorite place to be. He'd taken up residence inside the darkness. 

"Obi-Wan. Have you had any sleep?" Qui-Gon's voice gritted like gravel on pavement as his throat adjusted to making sound. His hand reached down, and he cupped the younger man's chin, turning the face up to his inspection. 

"No," Obi-Wan replied, looking up at the sleepy man towering over him. Amusement flashed across his features. "You haven't had enough." 

"I don't need much," Qui-Gon replied, dismissing the notion of his own well-being with a wave of his hand. 

"Good thing, because you aren't getting any to speak of. You're hovering over me, my Master." There was warmth and affection attached to the title, one Obi-Wan simply refused to stop using despite Qui-Gon's status among the Jedi. Qui-Gon had given in as well and now called Obi-Wan by his proper title, one which still carried connotations of deep feeling for both of them. 

Qui-Gon did not reply. Instead, he reached for the lever to open the shutters. 

"No," Obi-Wan said, his tone suddenly hard, edged with fear. A spike of apprehension stabbed out through the Force, and Qui-Gon froze where he was, slowly lowering his arm. "Not now...not now," Obi-Wan muttered, the short outburst of emotion curdling back into the sour pool of repressed emotion inside the young Jedi. 

For a moment, Qui-Gon considered what to do, what action he could take. He looked at Obi-Wan, who seemed to be curling further back into the chair with every passing moment. "I'm going to market today," Qui-Gon said, by way of changing the subject. "Will you come with me?" 

"Afraid to leave me alone?" came the immediate reply. 

"Afraid to be alone?" Qui-Gon responded, sparing no thought for the taunting nature of his words. 

Obi-Wan looked sharply at his Master. "Of course not." 

Qui-Gon wasn't at all sure that was the case. "Padawan..." 

"Go and do what you must. I'll still be here," Obi-Wan said quietly, without emotion. He faced the covered window, staring into space. 

After a moment, Qui-Gon turned and moved away, keying the controls to the bedroom door. 

As the door slid shut between them, Obi-Wan winced. He felt unable to control his emotions, much less his words and actions. Rage was growing inside him, like a malignant tumor festering in his heart, and Obi-Wan fed it a steady diet of sleepless introspection. In the deepest part of the night, when Qui-Gon lay sleeping, Obi-Wan gathered up his feelings and turned them inward. He examined each stray thought and emotion as a jeweler might gauge gemstones, seeking the flaws and cracks before estimating their worth.

Nothing was as Obi-Wan had expected it to be since Qui-Gon had brought him out of his personal hell -- not that he'd had a right to expect anything at all. It was always a series of missed signals, crossed purposes. He would reach out to touch Qui-Gon, feeling a simple joy at his ability to take that most basic of actions, and find his hand retreating of its own accord, frightened by the awesome scope of his freedom. At times, the need to be one with Qui-Gon was like a storm swirling around him, washing away his anxiety, providing a sense of focused power. He knew he had only to say the word, make the motion, and the dream would become precious reality. 

Then came the guilt...the inevitable shadow of degradation passed over him, bringing with it the inability to comfort, to offer solace to Qui-Gon. He collected the errant emotions, torturing himself with doubts and imagined weakness. He tried to crush down his shame, but the echo of emptiness deafened him, driving away comprehension, until he was lost again in the confusion. Qui-Gon's quiet acceptance only added weight to the unbearable pressure. 

Obi-Wan sighed, exhaling a shaky breath, just as Qui-Gon emerged from the bedroom fully dressed. As Qui-Gon drew on a cloak, Obi-Wan stood, stretching his muscles. "You'll be cautious, of course." 

Qui-Gon looked up in surprise. "There's no cause for suspicion, Obi-Wan. The Council has, in effect, come and gone. Yoda left us in peace." 

"He did not," Obi-Wan pointed out. "He said you would speak of it again. He didn't name the time, and he didn't agree with your decision." Worry lay heavily against his heart, mingled with all the other feelings churning within him. 

"I'll be cautious," Qui-Gon said finally, without comment on the validity of Obi-Wan's concerns. He took a step toward the door, pausing there with his back still turned. "And you be cautious also." 

Obi-Wan looked at the rigid line of his Master's shoulders, and reached for words, but his Master stepped away from the silence and was gone. 

*** 

The marketplace of Paramon bustled with activity as Qui-Gon moved through the streets with unerring precision, locating the few shops run by non-Force-adepts. It was almost habit now to seek the path of least resistance, to offer the fewest choices. He did it without conscious thought, without any last twinges of guilt. 

He stopped first at the stall of a local farmer, rapidly evaluating the quality of the vegetables before stuffing several in a sack. "I am welcome to these," he murmured, not even waiting to hear the parroted reply before stalking away. He moved with easy, sensual grace, making his way to a small shop off the main thoroughfare, hurrying without creating the appearance of haste. As he neared the shop, he immediately became aware that the owner was Force-sensitive, and thus could not be easily manipulated with mere words...but no matter. 

Qui-Gon pushed the door open and stepped inside. Within moments, he saw the item he sought. He picked up the small box and crammed it into the sack, acutely aware of the approach of the shopkeeper. 

"That board and the pieces with it are costly!" warned the clerk. 

Qui-Gon smiled gently, and the clerk's objections came to an end. 

*** 

Obi-Wan paced the small room in a persistent pattern. Back, forth. Stop to peek out the window in case Qui-Gon was approaching. Pause beside the table to look at the lightsaber he was constructing. He allowed himself small surge of pride; the saber was well built, though not calibrated, and was a triumph of ingenuity over the lack of spare saber parts. A smile lit his face as he recalled his first lessons in putting together a Jedi weapon. 

As rapidly as the smile appeared, it vanished, extinguished by the sudden realization that he may never wield a weapon again in service to the Jedi. Hopelessness washed over him, leaving him shivering. He fought for control of it, but the feeling had risen to the surface, bursting forth like a muddy geyser, refusing to be denied. 

Obi-Wan shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug that lacked comfort. He set his jaw so hard he heard the joints popping and sat down at the table to complete the saber. He picked up the small components, fitting them together, but he found he could not concentrate. The tiny pieces swam before his eyes, and a red haze of angry, irrational irritation clouded his vision. He felt the rage welling up within him, bringing a surge of adrenaline with it, one that tightened his body and closed his mind to coherent, ordered thought. He shoved the table aside, knocking it over, spilling the components on the floor, which only served to heighten his anger. And finally, it would be contained no longer. 

He called the Force to him, screaming words that made no sense, pushing the power away from him in great heaving waves, splintering the table into fragments. He looked at the destruction and felt something inside him snapping in two, cleanly, like the fracture of an old bone too brittle to survive the pressure. The Force emanated from him in halting, surging ripples of immense magnitude, as objects in the room rose, jerked to a halt in mid-air, and smashed against walls and doors. The very air seemed to shimmer with the power loosed within Obi-Wan, and still, it was not enough. 

He wept in his rage, though he did not know it, could not hear himself beyond the roaring of pure hatred in his soul. He closed his hands on objects, heedless of their value, and shattered them with brute strength. He moved about the room at the center of a maelstrom, pushing the edges of chaos out around him, unwilling to pull them back. He threw his head back and howled, a primal cry for help, for compassion, for the things he'd been denied and had not known how to recapture. His legs buckled, and as suddenly as it began, it was over; he fell to the floor, spent. 

Dimly, he heard the crashing at the door as his Master came for him. The angry weeping subsided, passing over him like the last cells of a frenzied storm. "Obi-Wan!" He heard the fear that lay beneath his name as it was shouted, tried to find the words to reassure, but only choked fragments emerged, nonsensical. He bent forward, braced against the ground, but two hands settled on his shoulders, pulling him back from some imagined brink. 

Obi-Wan could no more shut off the flow of Force power he'd summoned than he could have controlled it to begin with, and it buffeted them both as Qui-Gon pulled the younger man into his arms. He shifted awkwardly, sitting down hard on the ground amidst the debris. With his own skill, he blanketed Obi-Wan's power, muffling the energy until it dissipated, and the body in his arms went limp with relief. 

"Master," Obi-Wan began, voice still shaking with the anger, the darkness that welled within him, "I couldn't control it." 

"Don't try, beloved. Now, finally, will you allow me to help?" Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan closer, holding the younger man tightly, and felt a nod of acquiescence against his chest. 

"But don't carry me," came the command, spoken softly near Qui-Gon's shoulder. 

Qui-Gon shook his head. Ever independent, this man he loved. He rose to one knee, lifting Obi-Wan with him, steadying him. "You need rest, Padawan," he said firmly. 

"I know," Obi-Wan admitted tiredly. He pushed himself up to a standing position, swaying slightly as Qui-Gon rose to support him. He raised his head with great effort. "Help me," he asked softly. 

Qui-Gon's arm went around him, steadying him, and they moved slowly into the bedroom. Obi-Wan's steps became more sure along the way, as if Qui-Gon's mere presence gave him strength. Qui-Gon eased him down on the bed, divesting him of his boots and pulling a blanket across him, and Obi-Wan made no protest. 

"Did you hear me calling you?" Obi-Wan asked curiously, looking up at Qui-Gon through the descending veil of sleep. 

Qui-Gon shuddered, remembering the feeling of the Force as it ripped through him, calling him to Obi-Wan's side. "Yes," he answered, sitting beside Obi-Wan on the bed. 

"Then it's not too late for us," Obi-Wan said, reaching out a hand to clasp Qui-Gon's larger one. His eyes closed, and slumber embraced him before he could see the infinite sadness drifting across Qui-Gon's face. 

*** 

The mid-morning sun of Messemer Prime burned down on the open streets and passageways of the city, driving the cloaked man back out of the bright daylight. He melted unobtrusively into the shaded areas near the side of the residence he was watching. When all was quiet within that small place, and the massive disturbance in the Force had ceased, he brought a small comlink out from the folds of his robes and activated a signal. 

"What have you to report?" came the strident voice, tinny from the funneling effects of the distant relays bringing the signal. 

"Kenobi recovers, but slowly," said the tall figure. "He has made the breakthrough the healers predicted. It would be less dangerous to take him now." 

"And Master Jinn?" 

The hooded figure hesitated. "Master Jinn..." 

"Tell me, you must." The voice seemed resigned, almost weary. 

"He incapacitated a man this day, Master Yoda, and I am...unable to provide a reason why he would have found such an action necessary." 

"No more time can we waste." Yoda's voice turned sharp once more. "Set things in motion, I must. Let him do no harm, Master Quoalo." 

The transmission terminated with a squeak, and the Jedi Master once more faded into the shadows. 

*** 

Lengthening purple shadows crept over the quiet garden, cooling it as night approached on the city-world of Coruscant. The splashing of a small fountain nearby went unheeded by the three Jedi Masters walking slowly through the quiet place of meditation. 

"I never thought it would come to this," Master Windu said slowly, tucking his hands into the folds of his robe. "Not Qui-Gon." 

"Sentiment matters not," Yoda reminded Windu sadly. "Saved, he may yet be, as may the boy. Harming others...this, we cannot tolerate." 

"If we separate them now-" Ki-Adi-Mundi began, but Windu cut him off. 

"The healers gave their approval, Ki. Master Quoalo reported seeing signs that the breakthrough had begun, the purging of rage through the Force." 

"Know what happened to that boy, we do not," Yoda said softly. 

"No, but what we know of the slaver system...well, one can well imagine what he endured. And now to separate them..." Windu shook his head. 

Yoda looked up at Windu. "Surprised am I, Mace Windu. Think you to excuse Qui-Gon's behavior?" 

"No, Master Yoda. I simply...wish there was another way." 

"As do I," Ki-Adi-Mundi agreed. Yoda nodded, and the three fell silent once again. 

***** 

"You cheated," Obi-Wan accused, eyes twinkling in the firelight. "I don't believe it." 

"I took advantage of your lapse in concentration," Qui-Gon answered, defending himself even as a small chuckle erupted. His former student looked torn between laughter and indignation. Qui-Gon was pleased to see happiness lighting Obi-Wan's eyes, if only for a brief moment. "You know better than to become distracted during a game of quetta, Obi-Wan." He shifted in his position on the floor in front of the fire, sitting across from Obi-Wan, and waited for him to reset the board. 

"It's unfair," the younger man grumbled, putting the jeweled pieces back into their places on the tiered surfaces. The crackling firelight caught the multicolored glass, casting sparkling flashes of ruby, violet and emerald on the walls. "You've always been much better at this game than I have." As he set the last scarlet-hued piece into its space, it slipped between his fingers and went crashing to the floor. Instantly, his eyes flickered up to see if Qui-Gon was watching, and found the dark blue gaze riveted to him. Obi-Wan's jaw tightened fractionally as he scooped the piece up. He closed his fist around it to hide the tremors in his hand. 

Qui-Gon sighed at the rigid set of Obi-Wan's shoulders. "The healer said you would benefit from having your wrists massaged," Qui-Gon reminded him, careful to stop short of making the words a suggestion, almost bursting to make it a request. He refrained from staring at the scars on those slender wrists, still ugly and raw after almost a month out of captivity, burned into the flesh by tight ropes and manacles. The nerves continued to heal...but slowly. 

Obi-Wan looked searchingly at Qui-Gon. For the briefest of moments, his face reflected a kind of frank speculation, as though he were measuring Qui-Gon's intentions. "Where's the salve?" he asked finally, setting down the game piece and resting his forearm on his bent knee. 

"I'll get it," Qui-Gon offered, rising easily from his spot on the floor and moving to his bedroom to retrieve the small jar of balm the healers had left for Obi-Wan. Once there, he stopped to wrestle down the demons of desire and control. This was another of the many steps Obi-Wan would take toward his healing, and Qui-Gon had no wish to derail the process by making a false move. He snatched the cobalt blue jar from the shelf near Obi-Wan's bed and padded back into the common room. 

Obi-Wan was pushing up his sleeves, but stopped short when he saw Qui-Gon standing there, watching. For a very long time, their eyes caught and held, creating the sense of suspended time in the darkened room. Qui-Gon started moving again, and as he seated himself across from Obi-Wan, the younger man lifted the game board and set it aside, his movements slow and cautious. 

As Qui-Gon uncapped the small jar, the pleasingly heady scent of calia flowers wafted through the room. Obi-Wan extended his left arm, bared to the elbow. Qui-Gon scooped up a generous amount of salve and rubbed it between his palms to warm it before reaching out to take the injured wrist in his hand . 

"Wait," Obi-Wan said suddenly, jerking away. He tensed for a moment, then quickly untied the folds of his tunic and yanked it over his head, freeing his arms of the large, loose sleeves. "If you're going to do it, then do it," he said, the lines of his face hardening grimly as the warmth from the fire touched the half-healed injuries on his torso. 

Qui-Gon took a quick breath. This was the first time Obi-Wan had willingly allowed him to see the injuries for any length of time outside the bath since the day they'd arrived on Messemer Prime. Another small step. He took Obi-Wan's left hand in his, spreading out the young Jedi's fingers with feathering strokes to the clenched fist. He overturned the hand, palm downward, and touched the center of Obi-Wan's palm, drawing that touch down the underside of the hand. Obi-Wan shivered slightly, but remained very still. Qui-Gon drew his thumbs up the back of the hand, slowly, halting at the wrist and rubbing there a moment, fingers winding around the sensitive skin, aided by the slippery salve. Around, to the sides, across the top...Qui-Gon repeated the pattern several times, soothing the angry welt with cool reassurance. 

Obi-Wan stared at the hands caressing his own. The hypnotic motion of that touch was both comforting and erotic, in ways that reached down deep to a core of desire he had refused to open, fearing that he would be consumed in the intensity of it once the way was clear. Too many demons of memory circled the place inside him that wanted his Master's hands everywhere, on him, inside him. Still, he watched, feeling the hitching of his breath as it caught under his ribs, shallow and fast. 

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon's hands slid up the younger man's arm, and Qui-Gon held him just above the elbow as he stroked down in a curving, swirling motion, his fingers enclosing the entire forearm. He stopped at Obi-Wan's wrist to rub gently over the burns once again, watching the young man's breath come faster, his body begin to tense and twitch. Qui-Gon released him slowly and gently tipped Obi-Wan's chin up with a finger, watching his eyes. "Shall I stop?" 

"I..." Horribly conflicted, Obi-Wan hesitated. There was something wild in his eyes, darkening them as echoes and shadows drifted there. 

Qui-Gon asked him softly, "Would it help to talk of what happened?" 

"What could I say that you don't know?" Obi-Wan said, in a voice that was a ghost of his usual cultured bravado, on the fringe of a whispered scream. "That I fought with everything I had in me not to let them take me? That they took me anyway? At first, I imagined you coming for me, freeing me, every time they violated me. But it never stopped, it never...stopped...and I thought you might not find me..." 

"Tell me," Qui-Gon urged, understanding that there was more, much more -- emotions ready to find the same freedom as the body that contained them. 

Obi-Wan held his hands out in front of him; they glistened with a soft sheen from the salve. Quietly, he continued, "I tried to kill them because it brought me pleasure. It was all I had to distract me...thinking about killing...inventing ways to kill them...I could taste it. It was in my blood. I planned it. I wished for it. I reveled in hating them." Obi-Wan finally looked at Qui-Gon, and there was something so cold in his eyes that Qui-Gon could not look away. "Every time they fucked me, they pushed me farther away from you. I knew I could never wipe that away. A Jedi doesn't give in to hate, but I enjoyed mine, and I knew it meant I could never be with you. So I decided to die." He laughed then, a grimace trying to turn to a smile on his face. "Then you came, and freed me, and I had hope again...only to learn you have traveled the same path...that ..even if I had wanted the life of a Jedi again, I could never be a part of it if my path was with you..." The rictus of a smile vanished, the laugh choked off by irony and bitter pain. 

Qui-Gon understood it all with perfect clarity. "Once again, someone took...I took away your choice." His voice was thick with regret. 

"You have given me more than you will ever know," Obi-Wan said softly, voice wavering slightly. "But what kind of life can we have? You are banished. I am disgraced." 

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. Finally he spoke, slowly, heavily. "There is no disgrace in what you have suffered, Obi-Wan. Or in the feelings which kept you alive." He sought Obi-Wan's eyes. "How can I say you should have pushed away the darkness, not allowed yourself to feel it, when it was all around you? To have endured as you did...whatever it took to survive...none of that matters. You are alive." Qui-Gon said the word with a kind of satisfied relief that made Obi-Wan shiver. "Despite what you say, you never turned...never became a part of the darkness. You never surrendered to it." 

"I wanted to die, Qui-Gon. Don't you understand? I did give in. I did. I couldn't...bear it anymore..." Obi-Wan's words cut at Qui-Gon, who found himself riveted to each shadow flickering over Obi-Wan's face. "And by living on, I destroyed myself, and your future as well. They didn't do it. I did. I-" 

"Stop it," Qui-Gon said raggedly. "Stop it. You destroyed nothing. And you must have known I would never stop looking until I found you." 

"I didn't want to wait any longer," Obi-Wan said simply. "Death was more attractive." 

"If I had found you dead, I would have killed them all," Qui-Gon said, and there was a flash fire in his eyes as he spoke. "But you are alive. Nothing else matters," he repeated. 

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon as the fluctuating light from the fire played across the older man's face, fascinated by and drawn to the changes in his teacher. He reached out a hand and touched his Master's lips with two fingers, tracing the tight line of them. "I am alive because you gave up everything you ever cared about, everything you ever believed, to find me." He saw Qui-Gon begin to speak, stopped him with pressure from those fingers. "You are not tainted by darkness, Qui-Gon Jinn. You are my light." 

Qui-Gon's heart twisted sideways as all feeling within him became centered on the touch of Obi-Wan's hand. He'd done so much to regret, so much which had altered his life's path irrevocably...and Obi-Wan was offering him redemption. "Obi-Wan..." 

"You are my light," Obi-Wan repeated fervently, trailing his fingers down across Qui-Gon's chin, across the line of his jaw, lingering in the soft whiskers of the beard. 

Qui-Gon found he was barely breathing, for fear of disturbing that gentle touch. Obi-Wan shifted forward, eyes fastened to his, his action breathtaking in its simple trust. And then Obi-Wan took control, lips covering Qui-Gon's, demanding that he yield. 

Qui-Gon opened himself to the exploration, the rediscovery of places remembered in dreams alone, as his lips were pushed apart to make way for a questing tongue, winding and teasing. The pressure of that warm mouth moved constantly, seeking new angles, new points of desire. He felt himself falling as those lips moved lower, finding the familiar sensitive spot beneath his left ear, nose nudging his head to the side to make way for the light nibbling of teeth. 

A subdued moan rose from the throat under the attention of those teeth, vibrating low against the pressure, and was rewarded with another kiss, this one more exacting. Hands touched Qui-Gon's face, cradling it, pulling him deeper into the abyss. 

Obi-Wan's hands moved into Qui-Gon's hair, stroking the length of it with wonder, as if it were the first time. Qui-Gon's hands rose of their own accord, seeking a lifeline. Obi-Wan sensed the movement, and Qui-Gon's struggle to remain still. He pulled back, releasing Qui-Gon, settling on his knees, and caught the hands which hovered in midair. With only a small hesitation, he guided those long fingers to his body. As they made contact with his skin, he moved forward again, claiming Qui-Gon's mouth, stopping only to whisper his permission. "Touch me." 

The last barrier between them shattered then, as Qui-Gon pulled the younger man against him, mouths joined. There was no resistance, no reluctance; Obi-Wan's body melded to Qui-Gon's larger frame as though they were fused. 

Qui-Gon rose to his knees, breaking contact with those tantalizing lips, pushing Obi-Wan away slightly. He laid soft kisses across Obi-Wan's face, quelling the confused look in Obi-Wan's eyes, and bent his head to the task which had preoccupied him since the moment their lips touched. 

With infinite care, he traced his lips down the line of the scar beginning at the top of Obi-Wan's collarbone, mapping it with his tongue, erasing its horror and lending it a kind of glory. He moved slowly on to each twisting line on Obi-Wan's chest, marking each with exquisite tenderness. 

Obi-Wan's legs refused to support his weight; he was lowered, laid down, and still those soft caresses of his Master's mouth moved down, neglecting no part of him. He felt limp, unable to speak, unable to lift his arms, turned to water by Qui-Gon's loving ministrations. Hands tugged his breeches, whisking them off quickly. Suddenly he felt Qui-Gon pull away, and made a small sound of distress. 

Qui-Gon moved closer, kissed him, turned Obi-Wan's face toward the intense desire blazing in the midnight blue eyes. Once again, permission was sought. 

Obi-Wan felt the answer rise up within him, and gave it expression. "Qui-Gon," he said simply, the word almost a plea, the name spoken with joy. His answer was met with a brief smile and a flash of understanding. 

Obi-Wan lost track of the world then, as it tipped on its side and spun out of control. A scream began to build in his throat as he was engulfed in wet heat, but slowly, as Qui-Gon's mouth descended sensuously on his cock, tongue swirling and caressing, tasting every part of him. All this pleasure, and it was for him...He lifted a hand weakly, intending to protest, but was sucked down again, his mind on the brink of exploding as he was taken in fully, worked by teeth and a willing tongue. 

"Please, no," Obi-Wan gasped, and Qui-Gon stopped immediately, looking across Obi-Wan's body with concern. Obi-Wan shook his head, frustrated, and gathered his strength. He drew Qui-Gon up, pulling at his Master's tunic with shaking hands, eyes pleading to be understood. 

Qui-Gon stilled the frantic hands and quickly undressed, piling his clothes and shoving them out of the way. Within moments, Obi-Wan was on top of him, covering Qui-Gon's body with his own, the hard length of two cocks pressed together. Qui-Gon's guttural sound of pleasure caused a rippling shiver to cascade down Obi-Wan's spine. 

Obi-Wan rolled away for a moment, returning quickly to nudge open Qui-Gon's long, muscular thighs. The scent of calia flowers filled the air once again as Obi-Wan smoothed salve across his aching cock, then pressed his fingers low into Qui-Gon's body, finding the path quickly. 

Sparks coursed through Qui-Gon's body as Obi-Wan pressed into him with a rocking motion, filling him, offering him completion. He closed his arms around the younger man, pressing him deep, listening to the sounds and words of ecstasy arriving. A hand closed around his cock, moving with a rhythm easily remembered, and they moved together, one fluid motion, stroking and retreating, matching like two sides of a pendulum. 

Obi-Wan's back arched, his muscles locked, and with a cry he tightened his hand, sending Qui-Gon's hips arching up into that close embrace as they came together, a feeling of wild surrender surrounding them, joining them, making them both whole. Obi-Wan's head dropped onto Qui-Gon's shoulder as tiny shivers wracked him, and Qui-Gon rolled onto his side to gather Obi-Wan into his arms. 

No words were necessary. They lay together by the fire, spent and fulfilled, and sleep came quickly, draping them in serenity. 

Outside, as the night reached its zenith, and the darkness was deepest, five figures cloaked in Jedi robes moved into position, their hearts heavy, and began the vigil which would lead them to the moment they all had come to dread. 

*** 

Part 4: Schisms and Shadows 

In sleep, the darkness no longer stalked Obi-Wan; the corners of his confusion were pulled back, revealing only the memory of Qui-Gon's cleansing touch. He lived the beauty of their lovemaking again in his dream - fingers trailing down his spine, lips following, leaving behind validation of his Master's love. He felt affirmation of the joy he'd craved with all of his being every day of his captivity. His fear was swept away by his Master's careful explorations. He was free ...free, and safe, and a man whose healing had begun, no longer shattered into pieces, no longer searching for an answer to his despair... 

Reality intruded slowly into his dreamscape. A soft kiss was pressed to his pliant lips, which parted of their own accord to allow the quick, teasing entry of a tongue determined to entice him into wakefulness. His lower lip was captured, caressed, and his name was sighed gently into his mouth. "Obi-Wan..." 

The younger Jedi moved closer to accept the welcome invasion, and stretched against the comfortable familiarity of Qui-Gon's body, content to remain still within the circle of his Master's arms. Large, firm hands wandered slowly down the length of his chilled body, warming him, and he realized the fire at his back had long since cooled. 

"Is it morning?" Obi-Wan heard the sleepy fuzziness of his own voice, and his Master chuckling softly. 

"You slept the night through," Qui-Gon confirmed, not bothering to hide his relief and pleasure. 

Obi-Wan pulled back slightly, and his breath caught in his throat as he looked into the depths of Qui-Gon's dark blue gaze. His Master's eyes reflected a complete, utter confidence as they raked across Obi-Wan's body; it was a look of possession, of protection, of satisfaction. Obi-Wan had nearly forgotten how breathtaking that look could be, and a sensuous smile spread across his face as he watched Qui-Gon's eyes traveling his nude form, worshipping it without words or touch. 

A fleeting sensation passed across his consciousness, barely there, and yet vital, urgent somehow. He frowned, looking to Qui-Gon. "There's a disturbance in the Force," he noted. 

Qui-Gon rose from his prone position, sitting up quickly with an athlete's grace and drawing Obi-Wan up with him. "I sense it also," he admitted. "While you were still asleep, I began to feel the presence of other Jedi nearby. That's why I woke you." 

"You think they've come for us." Half statement, half question. A stab of fear passed through Obi-Wan, flickering briefly in his eyes. 

"There's no other reason for Jedi to be on this world. Certainly not with this much agitation in the Force." Qui-Gon seemed far away, and yet sharply alert in the moment, reaching out with the rusty abilities of a Jedi Master to gather what information he could. 

Obi-Wan sat still for a moment, quieting his mind. "They know we're aware of their presence," he said suddenly, sure of it. "Why are they waiting?" 

"They are waiting for us to go to them," Qui-Gon said scornfully. "Fools." 

"And if we don't?" Obi-Wan asked uncertainly. He knew the probable outcomes of every scenario involving a confrontation with other Jedi. Every path in that direction led to darkness, and Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon must feel the same. 

Qui-Gon stood and began to dress. "Then we shall have to fight our way out, and off this world." The words were spoken grimly, but casually, as if Master and Padawan were discussing the most mundane mission imaginable. 

The implications of the course of action he described reached Obi-Wan immediately. "Raising a hand to another Jedi is forbidden by the Code, unless in the course of training or practice," he said slowly, struggling with the very notion of actually battling a full Knight or Master. Instinctively, he knew he was not prepared for the challenge of it; he had not trained in any capacity for over a year, and his muscles were weaker through lack of activity. His reflexes were slower; his sensitivity to the Force diminished. 

Obi-Wan pulled his clothing to him and began to dress. A deep sense of unease penetrated the core of his being, sending ripples of worry and uncertainty through him and out into the Force. 

"Obi-Wan...you will have to make another choice now, one that is not so easily decided." Qui-Gon fastened his lightsaber to his belt - a move which seemed strangely, suddenly ominous to Obi-Wan - and sat down to pull on his boots. "I told the Council I would not be separated from you until you recovered. You've begun, but a beginning is all it is - there is much ahead of you. I won't be made to return...and I won't let them take you from me, unless you wish to go." 

"No," Obi-Wan said immediately, vehemently. "If you will not return to the Temple, I will not." Unspoken words created their own vacuum as his voice dropped away. 

"But you will not fight these Jedi." There was no accusation in the tone, just acceptance, as Qui-Gon spoke. 

"I can't," Obi-Wan said, torn. His newly-recovered sense of inner peace wavered on the brink of uncertainty, jolted by the touch of impending disaster. "I...I can't. I'm not in any shape to win a fight...and it's forbidden by the Code." 

"I'm no longer bound by the Code," Qui-Gon said, his voice taking on an edge of ferocity that drew Obi-Wan's attention fully. "And if I resist? What then?" 

Obi-Wan already knew his answer to this crucial question, one Qui-Gon had been bound to ask. Nothing had changed, despite his Master's deviation from the path of light, despite anything that might come against them. There was nothing to decide, and he sent the doubts scurrying into a corner of his mind, dismissing them. 

"If that is your choice, I will come with you," he said slowly, feeling the press of Qui-Gon's emotions pouring into him unguarded. His Master's relief, mingled with deep, unwavering devotion and desire, anchored Obi-Wan to the choice he made. He met Qui-Gon's eyes, and illustrated the invisible line he would not cross. "But I will not take the offensive against them." 

Qui-Gon was silent, watching as Obi-Wan finished the process of dressing himself. Despite his Padawan's progress, he was still pale, and thin, and tired far too easily. The faintest of tremors manifested in the young man's hands as he belted his sash, tugging and pulling it into the proper position. Qui-Gon crossed the short distance between them, pulling Obi-Wan into his arms roughly. His Padawan looked up at him with complete trust, and his eyes were calm. "Be certain, Obi-Wan." 

In answer, his Padawan reached up to wrap his hand around the nape of Qui-Gon's neck, and pulled the Jedi Master down into a ravaging kiss, his lips delivering a siren call of raw, unfiltered need. Qui-Gon felt himself falling into an endless place of perfection too costly to abandon, where love and the promise of a future together were all that shone in a vast darkness. He let himself fall, tethered only to Obi-Wan's hope and trust, and knew it would be enough. 

"All right," Qui-Gon whispered into that roving, claiming kiss. "Let's go." 

"Straight out, then?" Obi-Wan picked up his partially completed weapon, gave it a glance of rueful regret, and pocketed it in his cloak as he swung the garment around his shoulders. 

"There's no other way." 

*** 

With astonishing speed and beauty, the sun which sustained life on Messemer Prime chased away the last wisps of night, melting away the orange dawn and delivering burning heat to the early hours of the day. Five cloaked figures stood outside the temporary residence of Qui-Gon Jinn, in the shadows and corners of buildings, using their combined Force abilities to steer away citizens wandering nearby. Although calm, these Jedi were ready for battle, and they did not expect any sort of easy acquiescence on the part of Master Qui-Gon Jinn. 

Their instructions from Master Windu had been simple and pointed. Take both Jedi alive, stop them from injuring themselves or others through use of the Force, subdue them and deliver them back to the Temple on Coruscant. The five warriors had honed their skills in various conflicts throughout the Republic, and were chosen personally by Master Yoda. 

Two of the Knights, Kal-Iana Arka and Kiriesten Maaj, had taken classes in advanced saber techniques from Qui-Gon while he taught briefly at the Temple many years ago. They had grown to respect the man, and had found their respect twisted in a strange and painful direction as they gave their knowledge of his techniques and tricks to the other warriors. Now they watched, and waited, and prepared to die at the hands of a fellow Jedi in order to bring him back to the path of light. 

Not for the first time, they looked at one another, each soberly contemplating what was to come. 

The door of the residence swung open, and Qui-Gon Jinn emerged, lightsaber still fastened to his belt. Obi-Wan hovered just inside the door, conscious of the fact his Master was gauging his opponents, measuring their strength in comparison to his own. 

None of the Jedi moved. Kal-Iana Arka spoke softly, delivering the message she was given. "Master Jinn. We have been sent by the Council to escort you back to Coruscant, where you must face the Council and answer for your actions. You and your Padawan must come with us." 

"No." Qui-Gon spoke, and waited. 

There was a flurry of activity then, faster than the average eye could track, as destiny sped into motion. Two Jedi moved to subdue Qui-Gon and were repulsed by a wave of Force-focused power, astonishing in its intensity, unchecked. The Jedi Master held nothing back. His hand closed as the last of the wave emanated from him, and his lightsaber found its way to those fingers, the movement automatic and effortless. 

Obi-Wan slipped from behind his Master and began to run, as they had agreed, heading down a street that would take him away from the spaceport, away from the city, and into the forest beyond. He knew what would happen if he were caught, the price that would be exacted from Qui-Gon, and that knowledge lent speed to his running strides. 

Like a shadow cast across his soul, Kiriesten Maaj was in his path, her hands open, one extended toward him. "Stop, Obi-Wan!" she cried, and he pulled up short, bouncing in place, looking for a way past her. This was a classmate, a friend only three years older, and her face was contorted with the pull of her own memories. "Please...don't make me-"

Obi-Wan dodged to one side and bolted toward the opposite side of her, sprinting on. Maaj wheeled on him and used a Force-powered shove to knock him off his feet. Obi-Wan rolled with a grace born of instinct and rose up running again. The second shove was twice as powerful as the first, no longer tamed by a desire to reason calmly. Now it's down to business, Obi-Wan thought, a momentary irrational humor creeping into his mind as he pictured his frantic goal. He pushed up from the ground once again. 

"Please, Obi-Wan, please," Maaj begged him, a hint of steel hovering beneath her appeal. 

Obi-Wan faced her, chest heaving, and allowed himself to look back at his Master. His heart contracted with anguish at the sight of the deadly dance. Sabers flashed, and as he stared, Qui-Gon cut Arka across the shoulder, a deliberate wound meant to delay, and not to kill. Another Jedi lay motionless in the road, saber only inches from his outstretched hand. Obi-Wan could not tell if the Knight was alive or dead. And still his Master battled in the midst of the three remaining Knights. He watched as if spellbound. 

He was weighted suddenly by Maaj's body as she launched herself at him, taking advantage of his distraction. They slammed to the ground, grappling for handholds. "Kiri," he gasped, still trying to recover the breath forced from his lungs as they fell. "Don't!" 

Maaj ignored him as she canvassed for weak points. He winced as she laid a blow to his abdomen, unerringly striking a still-tender previous injury, one he realized he must have unconsciously been protecting. With a whoof, he lost the last of his air. He closed his eyes and summoned the Force, and shoved at her with his mind. The long-awaited sensation of power moved through him as she lost her grip on his wrist and jerked backward drunkenly. 

She pushed back with the Force, stunning him, and the brutal reality of the moment filled Obi-Wan with a dread he'd never imagined would be possible. To win this fight, he would have to attempt to severely injure or kill his friend...and he was not willing to do so, even if he were capable. All the moments of the future with Qui-Gon assailed him, beckoning, offering promise. He closed his mind, and with that surrender, dropped his arms and lay motionless in the street. 

Maaj sat up, straddling him, breathing hard, and said, "Your word as a Jedi. You will no longer resist?" 

"You have my word," he said, and the last of his strength fled him with the utterance. He closed his eyes as her weight left him. She returned only a moment later, and snapped something into place around his neck. All too well, he recognized the feeling. Sickened, he turned his head to the side as the Force-dampening collar was activated, feeling the Force bleeding away from him in a cold rush, until nothing remained. 

All color drained from Qui-Gon's face as he lost the sense of Obi-Wan's presence within the living Force. He leapt in the air and bashed the haft of his saber into Arka's face, knocking her to the ground. "Obi-Wan!" He roared the name in a voice as frightening as it was desperate, even as he turned in a circle, seeking his Padawan, finding him in the middle of the street, unmoving. 

All sanity left Qui-Gon, leaving him feral, as the sounds of the world faded into silence. He became a wild thing, strength redoubled, madness giving purpose and clarity to every action. He lashed out, made primitive by the grief which ate away his conscience. The hot wash of pain through his soul eroded the last vestiges of adherence to a way of life which no longer held meaning for him. 

Someone was shouting his name, blocking his path as he went for Kiriesten Maaj, and he realized he should know the face, should have heard the love in that voice. Obi-Wan was before him, making the futile attempt to restrain him, and he pulled back, not comprehending, until he saw the collar on Obi-Wan's neck. In a sudden explosion of sound, he heard his Padawan shouting his name, knew he was defeated, and he dropped his saber as he reached for the younger man. 

Immediately, Qui-Gon was restrained, and with Obi-Wan before him, alive but hobbled by the collar, there was no reason to struggle. His place was with Obi-Wan... there was nothing left but to make sure he kept his word, regardless of personal consequence. 

Qui-Gon flinched as a collar identical to Obi-Wan's was fastened to his neck. He heard Obi-Wan shout in protest as he sank into temporary oblivion. 

*** 

Qui-Gon awoke in a state of sudden terror, Force-blinded. An excruciating moment of awareness followed, as the memories crashed down on him. Rattled, he raised up on the bed, looking around frantically. A pair of hands restrained him, and he looked up into the face of Mace Windu. "Mace," he said, voice incredibly hoarse. He realized suddenly that he was back on Coruscant. "Where is Obi-Wan?" he demanded, anger surging instantly. 

Master Windu recoiled from the dark emotion rampaging inside his friend. The rage emanating from Qui-Gon trampled the peace and order of his own thoughts, rearranging them into a discordant jumble. "Your Padawan is safe, Master Jinn," he said sternly, deliberately placing an official, formal distance between them, using that distance to aid him in blocking Qui-Gon's feelings. 

"They kept me in a Force-induced sleep," Qui-Gon guessed. It explained his hoarseness. "How long?" 

"A week. Time enough for the journey back from Messemer Prime, and to put some security measures in place here. You have become a dangerous man," Windu observed, without judgment. "You severely injured two Jedi. One is lucky to have survived." Windu studied the man before him, letting his senses stretch out to touch Qui-Gon's innermost feelings. "Is there nothing left of your conscience, Qui-Gon?" 

Qui-Gon swung his legs down from the bunk and snorted. "I knew this was coming. Now I'll hear all the lectures, the sad clucking over my fall, the pronouncements about rehabilitation." He looked up at the tall, dark-skinned man. "I did what I had to do," he said simply, no trace of apology in the words. 

"You went too far," Windu said, in that same simple, calm tone. "There will be punishment." 

"Let me see Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, cutting off the discussion. "I want to see that he's all right. He shouldn't be made to wear a Force-dampening collar. Not after what happened to him. It's brutal." 

"Perhaps you should enlighten me, then. Your Padawan has refused to discuss his experiences in the brothel. He has, in fact, refused to speak at all, other than to demand to see you and demand his freedom as well." 

Qui-Gon lunged up off the bed, but gained control of himself even as Windu moved aside to make room for a defensive action. "His freedom is the issue, Mace. I searched for him for a year, and when I find him, the Jedi make him a prisoner again." 

"This is your doing," Mace reminded him. "Had you returned to the Temple when Yoda made the invitation, you-" 

"Invitation?" Qui-Gon said incredulously. "Should I have accepted an invitation to my own execution? It's the same thing." 

"Had you returned then," Windu continued patiently, "Obi-Wan would have been given treatment immediately and would never have been confined at all. He is under guard simply because he chose to remain with you, and to attempt escape with you - and for no other reason." 

"He was brutalized," Qui-Gon said, his face haggard. "Raped, repeatedly. Blinded. Kept under a Force-dampening field - Mace, you have to get that Sith-spawned collar off of him, damn it!" The tone turned from impatient to pleading. 

Windu pulled a small comlink from within the folds of his robe and keyed it. 

"Station ten," said a small voice. 

"This is Master Windu. On my authorization, have the guards remove the Force-dampening collar Kenobi is wearing." 

"Master Windu, that's in direct opposition to Master Yoda's instructions," the Jedi at the other end reminded him respectfully. 

"Do it," the Master ordered brusquely, switching off the link. He watched the harsh tension in Qui-Gon's face ease a bit. "So you decided to go against the Council, the Order, everything you've worked for your whole life. You threw away everything, Qui-Gon." He looked at the other Master sorrowfully. 

"Obi-Wan was worth the sacrifice," Qui-Gon said. 

"Because he was your Padawan, or your lover?" Mace asked shrewdly. 

"Both. Either. It doesn't matter. I can't take any of it back, and as long as he's safe I don't care if I'm consigned to the hells of the Sith." Qui-Gon felt overwhelmingly tired. "When can I see Obi-Wan?" 

"Not until you've faced the Council." 

"Oh, I have some words for the Council," Qui-Gon muttered darkly as he eased himself back down on the bed. He rolled over, turning his back to his friend, and fell silent. 

Mace looked at his old friend for several long moments. "One more thing, Qui-Gon. Don't try to leave these quarters. I don't want to have you restrained, but I will." 

"Get out," Qui-Gon answered. He listened as Windu keyed the panel and left the room. With a sigh, he shut his eyes, willing himself into a natural meditative state. He was going to need his strength in the days to come. 

*** 

Obi-Wan stood motionless on the terrace of the living quarters the Council had assigned him, watching the hard, glittering lights of Coruscant gleaming against the sky. Frustration and fear welled up inside him; he tried to pass them on, into the Force, but they lingered with him, whispering madness in his ear. 

He resisted the futile impulse to reach out to Qui-Gon, knowing he could not reach the Jedi Master through the dampening field surrounding his quarters. It was a comfortable prison his Master inhabited, but still a prison. Obi-Wan's heart hurt with empathy for his Master's lost freedom. It was a high price to pay for the life of a Padawan, one so damaged he would never be a Knight. Obi-Wan was sure of it now. 

"Come inside, Padawan." 

The voice from behind Obi-Wan was unmistakable. The young Jedi turned to find Yoda just inside, looking at him with an inscrutable expression. Obi-Wan bowed to the ancient Jedi Master, and stepped into the room as he'd been instructed. The strong transparisteel door slid closed behind him, blanking out the city noise and leaving the two Jedi enclosed in silence and tension. 

Absently, Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over the slightly sore spots on his neck where the Force-dampening collar rested only a few hours before. Yoda watched the unconscious action, ever perceptive. 

"How feel you?" the wizened Jedi Master asked. 

"Angry." Obi-Wan's answer was immediate. "When may I see my Master?" 

"Patience, patience you must learn," Yoda lectured. "When the time is right, see him you will. Tell me, how is your training?" 

"I've begun the disciplines again," Obi-Wan said, feeling some pride and pleasure despite himself. He'd learned he was not as far out of practice as he'd once believed, and although his strength was considerably less than before, his skill had been easily sharpened, and improved daily. 

All this, Master Yoda knew, and much more. He'd read extensive reports from several Masters before coming to see the young Jedi. "And your injuries? Heal, do they?" 

"Yes, Master Yoda. The wounds on my chest and wrists are nearly gone. The bacta was most helpful in the healing process." Obi-Wan seemed agitated, bursting to ask questions. 

"Heal faster, you would, if brought to medical facilities you were when first you were found," Yoda grumbled, his face crumpling into a disapproving knot. 

"Healing involves more than bacta and bandages, Master," Obi-Wan snapped. 

Yoda raised up a bit, ears twitching, and made a noise of surprise and curiosity. He pointed his cane at the nearby couch. "Sit," he commanded. "Much you do not know. Explanations there must be, before understanding can come." 

"I mean no disrespect, Master Yoda, but I don't wish to hear your explanations," Obi-Wan said, his words much harsher than he'd intended. "Qui-Gon saved me. He helped set me back on the path I'd lost. Now you imprison him for it and expect me to understand. I can't accept it." 

"Speak too much, you do, but listen you do not!" barked the diminutive Jedi, punctuating his final words by banging the walking stick on the tiled floor. "Now you will let me speak, Padawan." 

Obi-Wan chafed with the effort of holding his tongue; his lips thinned into a straight line as he bit back a retort. Above all else, he had enormous respect for Yoda, and that respect kept him from speaking. 

"Troubled, is your Master. Many things has he done, many choices made which cannot be unmade. Time for you to hear details, young Padawan." Yoda climbed into a chair across from Obi-Wan, sighing from the effort, and laid his walking stick across his knees. "Know you how many men he killed in seeking you?" 

Obi-Wan said nothing. In the back off his mind, the tiny voice of doubt began to tickle at him. "If Qui-Gon has killed, there has been a reason," he insisted. 

"Stains the spirit of a Jedi, killing does. In self-defense only is it acceptable, or in defense of another." Yoda fixed his piercing blue gaze on Obi-Wan. "Killed six men, he has. Pleasure he took in the killing, Padawan. Immediate danger there was not, in many cases. Understandable, it is. Acceptable, it is not." Yoda absorbed the confusion Obi-Wan was generating, waiting for the young Jedi to form his questions. 

"He thought he was doing what was necessary to reach me, Master. Why must he be condemned for it?" Obi-Wan felt as though he was strangling, choked by the details his Master had omitted. 

"A harsh term you choose. Help him, we would, if he would allow it. Locked away he is, by his own choice. Afraid for you, and for himself. Knew the consequences, Qui-Gon did, long before he found you. Your Master he will no longer be. Separated you were so might you heal, and Qui-Gon too." 

The foundations of Obi-Wan's world dropped away at the ancient Jedi's announcement. Still, he had known it was coming, as had Qui-Gon. Another separation after so many months of searching was what they both feared. "You punish him, and he does not deserve it," Obi-Wan protested. 

"Punish?" Yoda echoed. "A poor example he sets for other Jedi. A rogue, out of control, not bound by the Council's commands. A good man, was your Master - fine warrior, good teacher. He can be so again. Punished he has been already, by separation from you. Face his conscience he must. Then, and only then, can he be whole." A knowing tone crept into Yoda's words as he added, "Takes courage, it does, to face the truth. Embrace the fear and anger, one must, to conquer them." 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. He knew Yoda was speaking to him as much as he was referring to Qui-Gon. Still, he stubbornly persisted. "He was certain he would be punished. As am I." 

"Rehabilitated. Counseled. Much work he must do to center himself in the Force again. Your Master he will not be, this much is certain. Atone he must for the darkness he has embraced to reach his goals. Master his pain and rage." Yoda hesitated. "Separated permanently you will be." 

"No!" Obi-Wan stood from the couch, body tensed as if to do battle. "He is more to me than a teacher, Master. Surely you must know that by now. I owe him my life...more than that." Obi-Wan struggled for the words to convey his anguish. 

"If a Knight you are to become, focus fully on your training you must. Destructive it is, to be involved with Qui-Gon, until his anger is resolved, his path clear. Difficult, I know." 

"Like hell you do," Obi-Wan said angrily. Yoda's face hardened in response. "I don't care what the Council believes. If it were not for Qui-Gon, I would not have survived. I would not have cared if I lived or died. I would have had nothing, nothing to live for, and I would not have been able to purge the darkness that existed within me when...when I was freed." He allowed his own anger to build almost gleefully. "Qui-Gon showed me the way back to the path of light, Master Yoda. How could he do so if he is so terribly tainted?" He layered his words with scorn. "I am no better than my Master, and no worse. I dreamed of killing, and he killed. What is best for both of us is to be together now." 

"That will not be, Obi-Wan." Yoda was firm, but sad. "Accept it, you must, and move on with your training." He clambered down from the chair, heading for the door, feeling the younger Jedi's turmoil all around him, like a sudden, violent storm. 

"Will the Council not ask me what I feel?" Obi-Wan called after him mockingly. "What feel you, Obi-Wan? Shall I tell them?" 

As the door slid shut behind him, Yoda heard soft, bitter laughter from within. 

*** 

He'd delivered a thousand reports to the Council, standing in the same position, looking into the same observant, wise faces, awaiting their decisions. This day should have been no different, if the universe were still on its safe, predictable course. But everything had gone horribly wrong; the order of things was out of balance, and Qui-Gon was a prisoner of the Council. He had prepared for this day, hoping it would not arrive, but believing that in the end, the combined resources of the Jedi would cause this to come about. 

Qui-Gon was thinner, but still retained his graceful, erect bearing, a posture that spoke of dignity and power. His hair was longer, tied back as was his custom. To Mace Windu, the picture was jarringly incorrect because of the binders on the Master Jedi's wrists, and the collar around his neck. 

"We would like to keep the proceedings informal, Master Jinn, but unfortunately the gravity of the situation makes that quite difficult," Ki-Adi-Mundi began. "Doubtless you are aware of the reasons you have been brought before the Council. All here have worked with, and respected, you for many years. This is not an easy moment for any of us." 

"Really," Qui-Gon said, his sarcasm ringing through the chamber. 

"Master Jinn, you broke contact with the Council well over a year ago and embarked upon a quest to rescue your Padawan. Why did you take such drastic actions?" asked Master Gallia. "Could you not have waited for assistance from the Council?" 

"Waited?" Qui-Gon said in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what was done to my Padawan in that filthy hole of a brothel? The degradation he experienced? Should I have waited for the Council to commit its limited resources to what Master Yoda called 'a secondary concern to the negotiations'?" 

"Know you what I meant, Qui-Gon," Yoda interrupted, irritated. "Secondary for you, it was - responsibilities you had, to the Miterrans. Others could have searched." 

"It would have taken a week or more, and the trail would have been cold when they reached Miterra," Qui-Gon answered, glaring balefully at Yoda. "And we would not be here today, for Obi-Wan would be dead, or still bound in slavery." 

"Know that, you cannot." 

"I'm certain of it," Qui-Gon countered. "I wasn't hard to find. I made my presence known. Will you try to tell me now that you offered me assistance? Where were your specially trained investigators when I crawled through the muckholes and corners of the dregs of every star system between here and Corellia, Masters?" With their very titles, he mocked them. "You speak of my responsibility to the Jedi, but where does your responsibility in all this end? You drag him back here against his will, and mine, to ensure his success as a Knight...but where was this concern one year ago?" His eyes burned with a fire which threatened to consume them all if set loose for even a single millisecond. 

"Think you to excuse your actions in this way, with rhetoric?" Now Yoda's voice rang with authority, no longer wise and gentle. "Killed men, you have, and felt pleasure." 

"The taste of the death of the man who raped Obi-Wan was sweet," Qui-Gon said viciously, so much so that Master Yaddle flinched. "Five others I killed, who abused young men and women and caused much misery. I did not look for alternatives, because they chose the manner of their existence, and such lives lead to painful deaths. But those men I killed to protect others." 

"You have also used the Force to take from others indiscriminately," Master Billaba said. 

"Because you left me with no resources. I would not go hungry, or without shelter, lest I become weak and not be able to continue my search. I am no longer troubled by the choices I made." 

"You should be," Master Windu said suddenly. "That's the problem, Qui-Gon. Your moral certainty has dissolved away. Anything and everything is justified, is that what you think?" 

"Where Obi-Wan is concerned I will make no apologies." 

Yoda and Windu exchanged a long glance. "Very well, then," Windu said. "You will no longer be Obi-Wan's Master. You will not be allowed to teach, or train, or assume any duties among the Jedi until an extensive rehabilitation is complete." 

"Against my will?" Qui-Gon said, skeptical. "I doubt you can manage it." 

"Your will is formidable, Master Jinn. As is ours combined," Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "You will be required to examine your actions, to find a path to the light, to do what is necessary to purge the darkness from your spirit and free yourself of the taint of it." 

"And Obi-Wan?" 

"Your relationship is at an end. There will be no compromise. Obi-Wan must continue his healing without your influence, lest he be turned away from the correct path." 

"Correct path," Qui-Gon snorted. "I will find a way to be with him. You can be assured of that much. As for the taint to my spirit...I will address that in my own way, in my own time. I am still my own man." 

"Indeed," Windu said, deeply troubled by Qui-Gon's words and attitude. 

As if he read Windu's thoughts, Qui-Gon turned his attention to his old friend. "I never thanked you for freeing Obi-Wan from the collar. You have my gratitude," he said softly. 

Windu nodded slightly. "Tomorrow you will leave for Corellia, to undergo counseling there. What happens after...we shall see." 

"Yes. We will." Qui-Gon bowed, making even that action seem a mockery, and allowed them to escort him away. 

*** 

In every decision he'd ever made, there was an element of selfishness. Obi-Wan had accepted the fact that he was not a selfless man, unerringly driven to do the right thing. Nevertheless, he had always given freely, with a full heart, to those he loved, as much as to complete strangers on distant worlds. Now he had a choice to make, one that was filled with danger. 

Qui-Gon would resist, defy, and tear himself apart before he would accept forced separation from Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan felt powerless to prevent that inner armageddon. Still, he knew his choices were limited. He could accept the Council's decision for the well-meaning but erroneous thing it was, and carry on with his training in hopes that he might be allowed to see Qui-Gon again once he achieved Knighthood. Or, he could resist, refuse, delay, lobby for his Master's release, and let go of any aspirations to Knighthood he might still carry. 

At times he was still surprised by the love he held for the Jedi, for his home at the Temple, for the calm and order that attended every action of a Jedi. The rightness of his life there had always been a part of him, unquestioned, even before he became Padawan to Qui-Gon. It was the only life he'd ever desired. It was all he knew, all that made him who he was, interwoven into the fabric of his personality and demeanor. He was a Jedi. That much would not change, despite the Council or their edicts, or anything else. He could live the life, and follow the ways, of the Jedi no matter where he was...or what he faced. 

His knees ached dreadfully as Obi-Wan roused himself from meditation and stood painfully. His physical wounds were healed. His heart was troubled, but lighter now that he understood what it was he had to do. He hoped the Force was guiding him, and not his own fear and pain. Soon enough, he would know. 

*** 

Qui-Gon Jinn stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, allowing his mind to drift. Images of Obi-Wan filled his mind's eye at once, on their last night together. He had allowed himself to be possessed, and had possessed in equal measure. He wondered if memories would be enough to hold him until he could devise a way to break free. 

He flashed back to Mace Windu's words inside the Council chamber, and a sigh settled in his chest. Conscience...the darkness of his spirit...such ambiguity, when in fact it seemed so concrete. He was sure of his love for his Padawan. All else was peripheral, as it had been from the moment Obi-Wan disappeared. He'd been sure he loved the younger man long before that day, but that urgent trembling of his heart had coalesced into resolve and determination when he realized how much his apprentice meant to him. 

He wrestled daily, hourly, minute by minute with the ease of his reach into the darkness, turning it over and handling it delicately, careful of its power. He needed no counseling to point the way for him. He knew the direction he would take. It was just a matter of circumstances allowing him to back away from the brink, so that he might take that step on his own. But not until Obi-Wan was with him again. 

A loud crash, and a short shout, sounded just outside the door. Qui-Gon came to his feet, alarmed and wary, as the door slid open to reveal Obi-Wan standing there. He deactivated his lightsaber, stepping forward under the stunned gaze of his Master, and smiled slightly. "One good turn deserves another," he said lightly, love shining clearly in his eyes. 

The two men looked at one another, drinking in every detail - until Qui-Gon broke the moment, reaching out to stroke a hand over Obi-Wan's face, thumb drawing down his cheek, reaching behind him to the small ponytail at the back of his neck. "Your Padawan braid..." he said, voice shaky. 

"Gone forever," the younger man answered steadily. He turned his head, delivering his face into the large rough hand at the side of it, and kissed Qui-Gon's palm. Qui-Gon's lips descended on his, moving quickly over that much-missed territory. "We should go, and quickly. Before an alarm is raised," Obi-Wan said, looking back at the Jedi Knight slumped against the doorway. 

A small shiver of apprehension caught Qui-Gon by surprise. "You didn't..." he began, hoping it wasn't true. 

"He's alive," Obi-Wan said, even as he reached down to drag the man inside the room. He took the small electronic key from the Knight's deep pocket and tossed it to his Master, then retrieved the Knight's saber and rounded the corner into the hallway. 

Qui-Gon followed, keying the collar and breaking it loose, flinging it away as they continued down the hall. Obi-Wan handed his Master the saber belonging to his former guard. Qui-Gon held it loose in his hand, mirroring Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan had chosen to break out his Master at the deepest part of the sleep cycle for good reason. The hallways were deserted as they made their way to the small docking bays at the far end of the temple. From there, they could take a shuttle to a landing platform and find passage on any of several dozen ships. They moved stealthily through the least populated and seldom used areas of the Temple. 

Qui-Gon pulled up short. "Wait...do you-" 

"Yes," Obi-Wan hissed, igniting his saber as they approached the door leading to the bay. Qui-Gon palmed the lock, and his heart sank as the door slid open. 

Mace Windu stood in the way, his saber ignited and held loosely at his side. "I can't allow you to leave, Qui-Gon," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes reflected a weary, immense sadness. 

Qui-Gon regarded his old friend for a moment. "Don't do this, Mace. One of us will not survive." 

"Hand me the weapon," Windu said, extending his free hand. 

"Step aside," Qui-Gon said evenly. They stood staring at one another for what seemed an eternity, as the sound of Obi-Wan's running footfalls echoed behind Qui-Gon, growing ever closer. 

"The time for discussion is ended," Windu said. "Will you not yield, and end this now?" 

"You know the answer to that question," Qui-Gon said, powering his lightsaber. 

At an impasse, the three Jedi stood motionless, each waiting for another to make the first move. 

*** 

Part 5: Synergy 

Mace Windu stood in the way, his saber ignited and held loosely at his side. "I can't allow you to leave, Qui-Gon," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes reflected a weary, immense sadness. 

Qui-Gon regarded his old friend for a moment. "Don't do this, Mace. One of us will not survive." 

"Hand me the weapon," Windu said, extending his free hand. 

"Step aside," Qui-Gon said evenly. They stood staring at one another for what seemed an eternity. 

"The time for discussion is ended," Windu said. "Will you not yield, and end this now?" 

"You know the answer to that question," Qui-Gon said, powering his lightsaber. 

At an impasse, the three Jedi stood motionless, each waiting for another to make the first move. 

Qui-Gon shattered the tableau, moving out to take the offensive. Two quick steps, and he was close enough to do damage. Grim satisfaction found expression in his eyes as he landed a glancing strike to Mace's shoulder. 

Windu's eyes widened slightly as he realized Qui-Gon was pressing the attack with all his strength. Blow after blow, he blocked his friend's strikes, finally forced to meet each with all of his formidable strength. "It doesn't have to come to this," Mace said, and although he meant the words, the threat behind them was unmistakable. 

"Let us pass," countered Qui-Gon. He readied himself to spring forward, as they circled each other, saber blades humming. A feeling of unease began growing within him, formed from the ashes of memory and trust, carried closer to his heart by long-standing ties of friendship. He ignored the sensation, swept it aside with ruthless determination. 

"Think of the boy, Qui-Gon," Mace urged, moving back a step, careful to retreat sideways, still in a defensive posture. "If you flee Coruscant, he will always be a fugitive. If you are killed..." 

Qui-Gon lunged forward with the lithe skill of a predator, quickly striking a series of potentially deadly blows. Mace countered each, reaching into the reserves of long experience to combat the furious assault. 

"If you die, his future's destroyed," Windu warned. In answer, Qui-Gon struck again, and Mace enveloped the blade, bringing them close. "And he will never be a knight if you strike me down," Windu hissed, so close that Qui-Gon felt the breath of the words on his face. 

"He's made his choice." Qui-Gon said the words, felt Obi-Wan's certainty from close by, surging into the Force. "His destiny lies along a different path!" 

"You will not...leave here," Windu said, struggling for dominance in minute increments, as his opponent's saber inched closer to his body. 

Locked together, Qui-Gon and Mace stared at one another, the light from the popping saber blades glowing eerily on faces contorted with exertion. "I'll leave with Obi-Wan, or not at all," Qui-Gon gritted out, his muscles straining from the effort of holding back Mace's advance. 

Windu's answer came with a massive Force-enhanced shove, sending Qui-Gon stumbling backwards. Furiously, Qui-Gon rallied and lunged forward; they moved with matched grace around the docking bay, fluid and determined. Qui-Gon battered down Windu's practiced defenses bit by bit, until they separated, breathing hard, taking each other's measure. 

Qui-Gon spared a moment to focus, to push back the feeling of disbelief at his circumstances. He'd never believed Mace would go so far to carry out the Council's instructions...not where he was concerned. It wounded him as much as it challenged him. He found himself distracted by the sudden paradox, his friend become his foe. 

"If you will yield, I will do my best to see you are not separated," Windu promised, once again circling, keeping his muscles warmed and ready for sudden movement. "You have my word, as your friend and as a Jedi, Qui-Gon. Surrender your weapon." 

Vast doubt and fear warred within Qui-Gon. He considered his limited options, found nothing to fall back on. Mace would not give his word if he had no intention of following through. Qui-Gon knew his fate; he would be sent away, and he dreaded the prospect of Obi-Wan being barred from the Jedi in disgrace. Selfishly, he wanted Obi-Wan with him at all costs, now that the younger man had stepped away from the Jedi. 

"You hold little sway over the rest of the Council," Qui-Gon said, muscles instinctively twitching as Windu adjusted his stance, watching, waiting. "Can you make assurances?" 

"I will do what I can," Windu answered truthfully. 

"Not enough," Qui-Gon breathed, unable to accept such weak guarantees after risking so much, coming so far. His saber slashed down in an arc of malicious purpose. Windu rose from the ground, leaping sideways and cutting through the air with his own blade. The blade slid gently through fabric and flesh, cutting Qui-Gon cleanly across the back, leaving a painful, angry wound. 

Qui-Gon twisted and moved away, his sharp intake of breath his only acknowledgment of the deep cut, ignoring Obi-Wan's cry of anger and empathy. He tightened his grip on his saber and focused his mind away from the pain, accepting it. End this, came the soft hissing voice from within himself, but he refused the suggestion, astonished at his own weakness where Windu was concerned. He simply could not bring himself to strike a killing blow. If he could only disable Mace... 

Windu's eyes were on Qui-Gon, watching the man he still considered his friend, revealing nothing of his feelings. He countered every flashing movement of Qui-Gon's saber, favoring his wounded arm somewhat, looking for his opportunity. And when it came, he took it, unhesitating, for he was a Jedi, and bound to his oath, and his duty. 

"Master!" Obi-Wan heard his own voice echoing with his silent mental scream. He stood frozen with a kind of stunned horror, reaching out to Qui-Gon through the Force as Mace Windu withdrew his saber, and Qui-Gon tumbled to the ground. 

Windu stepped back, thumbing off his saber, staring down at Qui-Gon's fallen form. He raised haunted eyes to Obi-Wan, plainly showing his regret and sadness. 

Obi-Wan's body tensed, and his lightsaber went into his hand, fitting there like an extension of his body. 

Through a haze of excruciating pain, Qui-Gon heard the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber igniting, felt the coursing of raw energy through the Force, knew Obi-Wan was ready to jump into the battle. Fear welled up, an icy waterfall flowing down into his limbs, making him brittle. 

"No, Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon said, breathing heavily as his body adjusted to agony. He pressed one hand against his aching shoulder, where the cauterized wound burned and throbbed, and sat up. "You're no match for his...level of skill. Better alive and separated...I cannot see you die...I will not." Something hot and sharp blinded him; he tasted tears of bitter anger, stinging his eyes, reminders of defeat and loss. Obi-Wan's survival was all-important, as it had always been; he reached out with the Force, felt the younger man hesitate. "Obi-Wan!" he gasped. 

"Yes, Master," came the answer, vibrating with tension. Qui-Gon sank back, relieved, as Obi-Wan's anger flowed out into the Force, released reluctantly. 

Obi-Wan locked eyes with Mace Windu for a moment more, and Windu was startled by what he saw there. Had Qui-Gon not called him...the boy was ready to die for them to be together. It disturbed him and moved him, and he began to understand at last just how deep the bond between them was. He watched as Obi-Wan moved swiftly to Qui-Gon's side, easing him into a supportive embrace. 

"He needs the healers," Obi-Wan said tightly. 

"He will live, Obi-Wan," Windu said, his voice softening as he came to kneel beside them. He laid gentle fingers to the most serious wound, peeling aside the edges of the cloth to see the damage done by his blade. "And I gave you my word...I will do what I can to see that you are not separated...if that is what you truly wish." 

"It is," Obi-Wan said, not bothering to raise his attention from Qui-Gon's injuries. The young Jedi began the process of focusing healing energy toward the wounds. 

Qui-Gon looked up at his lover, and then at his friend, and felt the world sliding away in a rushing tide of pain. 

*** 

"Told you, I did. Dangerous he has become." 

Mace Windu did not turn from the tall, shaded window. He rested one hand on the transparisteel, which quivered under his touch. "I disagree. He had an opportunity to strike the killing blow, Yoda. He didn't take it. There's still something to be redeemed. And he wants that, or I'd be dead." 

"Recommend his rehabilitation, do you?" Yoda asked, watching Windu's body language. 

"Yes. As his friend...and as your peer," Windu said, the tone one of not-so-gentle reminder. 

"Persuaded so easily, I am not. What of the boy?" Yoda sounded dubious, but less so than when their disagreement began its first cycle over an hour before. 

"I've noticed certain tendencies in him - talents, if you will. He could still be useful in service to the Jedi." 

Yoda nodded, thinking about the face of his former pupil, and the angry single-mindedness he'd sensed. So much thrown away, all for the love of that boy. "Approach Obi-Wan first, you must. Then will Qui-Gon agree," he directed the other Master, who nodded his assent. 

"He will agree," Windu said. 

"So sure, are you? I am not." The pointed remark caused Windu to turn so that he faced the formidable Master. "Soon shall we see, who is right." 

*** 

Two weeks...two short weeks for their fate to be decided, while Qui-Gon recovered. Obi-Wan spent his days tending Qui-Gon, who spoke little and slept much, and examining the possibilities of their life together. His future was mapped; there was no question he would remain with Qui-Gon. He relied on Windu's word to carry him through. There was nothing else for him to do, no place for him to go, nothing to be if he were not part of his former Master's life. He was trained only for negotiation and combat; his skills were marketable if he chose the profession of renegade, but that path held no appeal or reward. 

He watched Qui-Gon become enveloped in a storm that raged within, and found a measure of his own healing in reaching out to his lover. He often spoke of Mace's words to them both, used that promise as a tool to comfort Qui-Gon, who seemed fiercely withdrawn. Qui-Gon was caught in some place filled with hellish shadows and torments, a place Obi-Wan could not reach, a realm he would have to navigate alone as he struggled to reach an inner peace. 

The echoes of his own pain came back to touch Obi-Wan with irony, a fact he did not fail to notice. He keenly felt the need to heal himself, and allowed Qui-Gon to wrestle his own demons. 

When the summons came, Obi-Wan was ready. 

"I'm informed Qui-Gon is recovering quickly," Mace Windu said, settling into his seat in the Council Chambers. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood before him, clad in a simple tunic, without his cloak or lightsaber. Once again, Windu experienced a sensation of a world out of balance. It seemed...wrong, somehow, for the boy to face him without title, without a sense of place or purpose stretching ahead of him. 

"His body heals, Master, but his spirit is troubled and restless," Obi-Wan said frankly. 

"And what of your spirit, Pada-" Windu caught himself saying it, cut himself off and tried again. "Have you made progress dealing with your own fears, Obi-Wan?" 

"I have, Master Windu. It has been enlightening to tend to Qui-Gon these last weeks. I find my sense of fear and anger is diminished considerably...and I have begun to reach understanding of the Darkness I embraced during my captivity." 

"So the healers tell me," Windu said, watching the younger man for signs of deception or evasion, and finding none. 

"I'm sure you're aware some members of the Council have speculated that you and Qui-Gon may take your services elsewhere, sell them to the highest bidder as mercenaries." Windu scrutinized Obi-Wan, but the young man's expression did not change. "In Qui-Gon's current state of mind, I'd have thought that a valid fear...but I suspect you have reached other conclusions." 

"Being a Jedi was not an occupation for me, Master. It's part of my being; I am a product of those teachings. I cannot undo all I've learned, all I've become, simply by leaving the order. I will always follow the path of the Light." Obi-Wan hesitated, wondering how his words were being received, and if Windu understood that he was sincere. 

Windu nodded. "Will it be enough for you, Obi-Wan, to simply walk at Qui-Gon's side?" 

"It will be enough," Obi-Wan answered. "It is the will of the Force." 

"What do you mean?" Windu asked, suddenly captivated by the powerful stirrings he felt within the Force as Obi-Wan spoke. 

"I made a choice to leave the path of the warrior, because it is a path Qui-Gon can no longer follow. So I must follow him. If he is to conquer the Darkness, Master, I must help him...and I cannot do that if we are separated," Obi-Wan said. "And Qui-Gon is more valuable than I am to the Jedi. So the greater purpose is served." 

Windu was silent a moment, considering the logic of it, and he felt the correctness of the words settle into him as he reached out into the Force. "Perhaps there is a way to serve the Force, and serve Qui-Gon as well," he said slowly. "But it will take time, and patience. And Qui-Gon must cooperate." 

"I cannot guarantee his cooperation, Master. A great deal depends on the Council, and their decision regarding our separation." 

"The Council has agreed to act on my suggestions regarding this matter," Windu informed him. "I have been observing your skills, Obi-Wan. I propose this: serve the Jedi as a healer. Rejoin us, as a Padawan under tutelage of a Master Healer, and learn the Healing Disciplines. If you choose to accept, I will use my influence to ensure Qui-Gon remains here as a teacher - when his rehabilitation is complete. Assuming, of course, that he is able to overcome what he has done, and face his conscience." 

"And am I free to enter my training after Qui-Gon returns from Corellia?" Obi-Wan asked shrewdly. 

Windu grinned. The boy was a natural negotiator; he'd been trained well by his Master. "You will enter the training program at the facility on Corellia, and may assist in the work Qui-Gon must do there." 

"What if Qui-Gon does not wish to teach?" Obi-Wan asked. 

"It may be that he cannot decide this question until he has purged himself of the darkness. If he still wishes to serve, this will be his only option. Too many questions will remain...he cannot be trusted not to turn, at least not in the short term," Windu explained. "He will be given more than one chance to choose, if the Healers feel he is ready to resume service to the Order. If he refuses...you will have yet another choice to make." 

Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully. "Qui-Gon's destiny will be of his own choosing. I can only assist him in finding it," he said, sounding eerily distant. He paused, and considered his options. Windu could almost see the thought process taking place before the young man spoke. "I would be honored to serve the Jedi as a Healer...for as long as I am able." The words were laden with the implications of a future where Qui-Gon would leave the Jedi. 

"So be it. I will make arrangements, and you will be welcomed on Corellia. When will Qui-Gon be ready to travel?" 

"Three days," Obi-Wan answered. 

"Safe journey, Padawan. I wish you both well," Windu said, pleased with the solution, but still troubled by the long and difficult spiritual journey his friend would face. 

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan replied, executing a graceful bow and leaving quickly. 

Mace Windu sat alone for a very long time, until the night fell over Coruscant, obscuring the light, hiding him in the shadows. And still, he sat alone, wondering, and thinking of Jedi prophecy...and of his friend. 

It was a difficult night for the Master Jedi. 

*** 

Qui-Gon marked an invisible line with his repeated footfalls as he paced the confines of his quarters. Back, and forth, every step marking the passage of time. Obi-Wan had been gone almost an hour, and Qui-Gon believed that with every second that passed, the chances of his return grew more unlikely. The Council may simply have decided to send Obi-Wan away and be done with it, though Qui-Gon thought it unlikely. Instead, he believed they would resort to persuasion, coercion, anything necessary to lure Obi-Wan back to the fold. 

Wrestling with his conscience had taken a toll on Qui-Gon, in ways small and large. He attempted to find reservoirs of remorse, failed, allowed himself to be puzzled by his failure. The abyss was closer and more beautiful than he'd ever dreamed, and he looked into it often, with something so close to desire that he should have felt fear. Yet he did not, and he knew his lack of guilt troubled Obi-Wan. So many things he'd done were means to an end, and once that end was achieved, he lived inside the decision, comfortable with the parameters. 

He had believed he could kill Mace Windu, had been surprised to find he could not. More to the point, he was troubled that Obi-Wan was ready to do so in his stead. To what end? He puzzled it though, again and again, always returning to the inescapable conclusion that he was the teacher, and Obi-Wan a most observant student. And there were things he could accept for himself...but not Obi-Wan. 

He knew must break with the Darkness. What remained was to find the means to do so. 

The door slid open, and Qui-Gon advanced on Obi-Wan, who gave him a faint smile. "Was it the full Council?" he demanded, without preliminaries. 

"No. Only Master Windu. It was a brief interrogation." Obi-Wan frowned as he noticed a few fresh spots of blood on Qui-Gon's tunic, just above his shoulder. "Sit down," he demanded, extending his hand to the older man and guiding him backward into a chair. 

"It will keep, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon objected, impatiently waving a hand toward his shoulder, dismissing it. "What is their decision?" 

Obi-Wan tugged aside fabric and eased Qui-Gon's tension with his quiet words. "We will not be separated." A grin born of relief and joy stretched across his young, handsome face. Qui-Gon caught him in a sudden embrace, swallowing his grin in a kiss which began hungrily, and ended tenderly, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. 

"That, at least, is a small victory. Something salvaged from all that has happened," Qui-Gon said, letting his head fall forward as Obi-Wan stepped back and ran his hands deftly across Qui-Gon's shoulder. 

"The cut across your back is almost healed," Obi-Wan said, as he quickly stripped away the soiled bandage from Qui-Gon's back and peered at it. The ability to focus on Qui-Gon's well-being kept him occupied, and made him feel less of a cause of all that had occurred. 

Qui-Gon turned his focus outward and sensed something he'd not felt in a long while - secrecy. He felt the power of strong emotion held in check, and something being concealed from him. 

"What is it, Obi-Wan?" Gentle fingers lifted the younger man's chin, tilted it at such an angle that Qui-Gon had full view of the green depths of Obi-Wan's eyes. "We agreed when you first became my Padawan that there would be nothing hidden between us. Tell me," he insisted. 

"The Council has offered me the opportunity to become a Healer, and to remain with the Jedi." Obi-Wan's tone was guarded. "I may remain with you, throughout your time on Corellia...thereafter, you will be offered a similar opportunity." 

Qui-Gon's skepticism showed itself plainly in his expression. "Opportunity...I think you overestimate the choices I will be given, Obi-Wan." There was humor in the words, but also truth. 

"Master Windu has said you will be offered a position as instructor at the Temple," Obi-Wan said slowly. 

Instructor. The word carried connotations of trust and respect, with all their varied shades of meaning. Qui-Gon was not at all sure he was willing, or qualified, to live within those meanings any longer. 

"But it will wait," Obi-Wan added, seeing the conflict playing out across the angular features. "It is not a decision which requires your attention right away." 

"Just as well," Qui-Gon said, "for I have made a crucial mistake by insisting you remain with me." He heard the words tumble out, saw Obi-Wan's expression and knew an argument was coming. Qui-Gon stopped the flood of rhetoric with his lips, tongue wandering through areas belonging to him alone, reveling in the openness between them. "I regret having forced you to make this choice, Obi-Wan. Had I been wiser, you would have become a great Knight." 

"No, Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan's voice was calm, certain. "I took the path offered me; the Force guided me. It is as it is meant to be. I don't claim to understand it, but I accepted it the night I cut my braid. There is some purpose to all this. Nothing happens by chance. This, my Master taught me." 

"So he did," Qui-Gon said, eyes darkening with desire as he bent his head to claim yet another kiss. "So he did." 

*** 

Epilogue: (Four years after the conclusion of "Synergy"...) 

"The disturbance in the Force is pronounced today," Obi-Wan said softly, watching Qui-Gon as he rapidly scanned dispatches from a far-distant world called Naboo, a planet Obi-Wan had never heard of. 

His lover stabbed a finger against the datapad, scrolling through interminable pages of text, and nodded absently at Obi-Wan's words. "Even the students sensed it today. There were many questions, some I could not answer." His eyes darkened as he set the small datapad on the table in the quarters they'd shared for over four years. "So much is happening, and it's coming too fast...things have been set in motion, and I worry that we are unprepared." 

"The Jedi are the best-trained warriors in the galaxy, Qui-Gon. Even against this threat...they will inevitably triumph." 

"It's too soon to tell," Qui-Gon said soberly. "However, I have news that may give you some indication of the level of apprehension among the Council." He looked up at his former Padawan, eyes raking over the blue Healer's robes with a kind of deep amusement flickering in them. 

"What?" Obi-Wan asked impatiently. His curiosity continued to plague him, even as he settled into this quiet life with the man who was forever his Master. 

"They have asked me to go back out into the field, to take a position as head of the battle unit heading off to the other side of the galaxy. There's been activity there...they suspect the Sith have massed sufficient numbers of trained adepts to take control of the shipping routes. Jedi are dying." 

Obi-Wan's mild expression vanished, as though a storm cloud passed over the sun. "And will I be allowed reassignment there as well?" 

Qui-Gon rose and stretched languidly, feeling a weary ache in his muscles that seemed to grow more pronounced each day. "More than that," he said, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "The Council plans to inquire if you would consider taking your Trials, and accompanying me to Tatooine as a Knight." 

Obi-Wan felt all the air in his chest vacate his lungs in a rush, and he sat down hard at the table. To have chosen so long ago...and to have his decision undone by a simple sentence, a few words, a casual request. It was unreal. The world had turned upside down suddenly, and he was underneath the weight of it all. 

Qui-Gon was beside him instantly, to lay warm hands on his shoulders and anchor him. "You are no more a healer than I am a teacher," he said fiercely. "These are the roles we accepted. The decisions we made to end your ordeal, to be together...I would not change them. But you are a warrior, Obi-Wan. It sings within you; the Force calls you to be something more than what you are now. Don't deny it. I was your Master; I know your strength in battle." 

"But..." The words faded, died. He frowned, looked at Qui-Gon quizzically. "I made this decision for us to be together. I won't accept a separation." 

"Are you listening?" Qui-Gon teased gently. "We will go as a bonded pair, Knight and Master. No separation. The Council knew I would not accept this assignment unless offered on my terms, and that is what they've given us. A chance, to begin again on a new path that parallels the old." Qui-Gon knelt beside the chair, touched his hand to Obi-Wan's face. "All that's required of me is to pack and go. You must face the Trials, and then readjust to your old life...the life you left behind." 

"Not so difficult," Obi-Wan said with a grin. "You've drilled with me constantly since the day I chose the Healer's Disciplines as a life path. My skill is ten times what it was before I cut off that damned braid." 

"What will it be, then?" Qui-Gon asked, unwilling to prompt his lover. 

"Aren't they afraid we'll tap into the darkness, turn to the Dark Side?" Obi-Wan asked, half in jest, half serious. 

"I think, at this point, the prospect of a Master Jedi turning to the Sith pales in comparison to the evil the Jedi face across the galaxy," Qui-Gon said, and his words chilled both of them to the bone with their truth. 

"I will take the Trials," Obi-Wan said slowly, his eyes fastened to Qui-Gon's. "From there, the future must decide itself." His mouth captured Qui-Gon's in a slow, thoughtful kiss, as if days and years to come could be measured, captured and controlled in the space of time between breath and the touch of lips. 

Whatever was to come, they would face it together. It was the will of the Force. It was destiny, preordained, and the harbinger of evil could not touch them in that moment as they locked together, body and soul. 

August, 1999


End file.
